


Drink Your vodka, and Wash the Blood from Your Face( we all have to grow up one day)

by Ash_Cassidy97



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: #take responsibility for your fanfiction, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes is a troll, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Character Study, Clint Barton Has Issues, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, I blame Hydra for all the things in this fic, I can not be trusted with cannon, Phil Coulson is not Fury's fault-seriously let's all blame Hydra, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Thor Is Not Stupid, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Troll Steve Rogers, Trolling, actually I knew exactly what I was thinking and take full responsibility, and yes that is a legit tag, angst fest, steve rogers is such a little shit, there may be possible loki redementation, this ignores everything except the first avengers movie because mavel messed with us
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 47,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay this is gonna be the weirdest crossover of all time and was originally intended to be a character study of a character( Ash Cassidy- from another abandoned fic of mine) for my novel. It became a black hole. I swear it started as a list of “25 Things to not do while working with the SAS”. I blame the lightwithin, the person that helped with that list. Nobody is beta-ing this so be very patient, since it can take me a few re-reads to find all my errors.</p><p>Felix Ubiquesta gets blackmailed for working for MI6. She is not amused with her current mission of infiltrating SCORPIA. Two years later, she joined the Avengers as their handler, and gets Alex Rider and Yassen Gregorovich to safety. Six months ago, she rescued the Winter Soldier and Agent Coulson from Hydra. This is her story.</p><p>AKA the Avengers need a new handler after Coulson’s death, and Fury picks the nerdy chick that wears sweaters, drinks tea, and confuses the hell out of everybody. </p><p>This fic ignores the plotlines of Captain America, Avengers 2(still not out but yus), Agents of SHIELD, and most of the Alex Rider books since I haven’t read them all, and got mad that Yassen Gregorovich died (Seriously!!?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take a Sip of Tea, and wait for the Bomb to Drop.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morbidcassanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidcassanova/gifts), [Rascacielos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rascacielos/gifts).



 

* * *

 

There is something to be said for irritating your soon-to-be commanding officer. They don't have power over you. Yet. I mean, I'm already a chick that lacks the traditional English pasty white skin, what more could I do at this point? A lot apparently.

 

Sargent Charleston didn’t like that I was a cold, soaking mess that had let my tangled hair drip over his desk.

 

“Ubiquahsta!”

 

“Sir, it’s Ubiquesta.” What? It’s pronounced Ubi-key-sta. I was trying to be helpful.

 

“Your code name is now Leopard. You will report to K-Unit, fifth hutt down.  If I hear one whisper of you having sex with any of the men on the base, you'll be transferred back to MI6, clear?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Sir.”

 

“There’s no need to address me as sir, especially since I identify as female.” Harry Potter is the lifeblood of nerds, and bored spies.

 

“And you have just earned your first KP duty, report at 1905 hundred hours for the next week, starting tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, my darling.”

 

“Dismissed.” The Sarge ran a special ops force, he knew to pick his battles.

 

Yes, I am a med student, stuck at attending the British special ops, but I can have a little fun. I slammed the his office door on my way out, and trudged through the mud and rain. I pull my hood down, wrapped my large, black coat around me, and tightened the straps of my military issued, black duffel bag. The camp was deserted.  I slammed my fist against the K-Unit’s hutt, and entered.

 

Alex Rider was sitting on one of the bunk beds. Well shit.

 

* * *

 

You see, there was this whole “thing” with SCORPIA, MI6, and Yassen Gregorovich. I was sent to infiltrate SCORPIA. It failed, that’s all I'm going to ever say about those two long years. I now have Yassen on speed dial, because I owe him a debt. The only reason why I was here was to keep Yassen out of jail, and safe in Canada. Well that, and to make sure that Rider was kept far  away from the wetwork MI6 wants him to do, because of the debt that I owe Yassen, and the debt Yassen owes to John Rider. I do Bad Things, and Alex Rider stays safe. If Rider finds out about the good time I’m having in MI6 than he'll get jealous, and want to join up.

 

“Which bed is mine?” I stood there, letting the four men take me in.

 

“You're a girl!”, one of the men shouted.

 

I get all the points for not responding, “AND YOU'RE A DUDE!” I mentally awarded myself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

 

“What is the Sargent doing, allowing a girl on base?”

 

“Feel free to ask him. My code name’s Leopard.” The Sargent wouldn't tell them why I was here. He didn't know himself, really. I know that MI6 had only told him that I was a MI6 agent, and could handle myself.

 

“Wolf.” He was the unit leader, and had asked what the hell the Sergeant was doing.

“Snake.” That was the team medic, best to be avoided.

“Cub.” That was Alex Rider.

“Eagle.” That was the moron that had proclaimed that I had boobs.

 

“That’s your bed. Breakfast is at 6 hundred. ” Wolf pointed at the bunk to the left of Rider’s. Lovely. I stowed my bag in the truck at the end of my bed, and fell gratefully into it. I was asleep within minutes.

  
  
  


**Part 2 of Chapter 1**

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

I woke quickly, not moving an inch, controlling my breathing. There was somebody leaning over me. I reached up, grabbed their forearm, and slammed them to the ground. I knelt over them, tightening my grip on my long knife, and shook the sleep off of me.

 

It was freaking Eagle.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”, I whispered, leaning in close, breathing on his face, waving the knife in front of his left eye.

 

“Waking you up?” He looked slightly freaked out by my weapon.

 

I checked my watch. It was 5am. Bloody hell.

 

“And you couldn't have just called my name?” He just stared at the knife. I sighed. “Don't haze me when I haven't had coffee. Do whatever gets you off, just do it after I've had food. Agreed?”

 

I might’ve waved the knife closer. He nodded. I stood up, and hauled him up after me. I put the knife back under my pillow. The rest of the men stared at me.

 

“I’m gonna go change.” I grabbed my uniform, and deliberately shuffled my way to the bathroom, trying to appear like I hadn't just taken out a “highly” trained SAS soldier. Nope, not little ol’ me.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all typos, and mistakes. Feel free to review, and kindly tell me what I did wrong if something irritates you. I do not have a beta, and I wanted to post this, before I forgot about it.
> 
> I get so many points for the maps. Seriously. That being said, I apologize for the gross inaccuracies of the maps in terms of what Brecon Beacons looked like in the movie, and in real life. It is also on a lot of uneven ground so buildings are built into the sides of hills, but the map kinda ignores that. Let me know, if I forgot anything else.


	2. Settling In (or how to survive where you're not wanted)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words in other languages besides English are underlined. The language is stated in the context. I format this way, because I've always disliked translators that never function, hover text that doesn't work on mobile devices( not that I know how to format that), or having to scroll all the way to the bottom for the translations. Felix’s schedule (I had to map it out for the rest of this chapter for myself) is done in standard time, because I did not want to continually reference different sources, but her actual schedule was probably given out in military time. Appreciate the drawing, all of the updating, redoing, re-downloading,and re-uploading.
> 
> I want y'all to understand the amount of research I did, so when you point out the cruddy parts, please be kind. Seriously, I suck at writing fight scenes. Also, any, and all (seriously, crack ideas are most certainly welcome) ideas for plot are welcome. Yay, interaction. *laughs nervously*.

* * *

 

My Unit ignored me, which was good. Very good. I kept behind them at all times, trying to go unnoticed, and hiding my limp. Although, it was kinda awesome that the entire mess hall fell silent when we entered. It was not fun to have over twenty men staring at you.  I gritted my teeth, and got into line for what the SAS considers to be appropriate sustenance. It wasn't that bad, compared to Italy, and there was strong, wonderful, miraculous coffee.Eventually, the mess hall went back up to normal volume by the time my Unit had sat down.

 

“How can you drink that swill?” It was Eagle, the only member of the K-Unit to interact with me.

 

“It’s coffee.” It wasn't bad either. There were only a couple grinds in it.

 

“No, that’s poison.”

 

“It’s still caffeine. Why are y'all here? You aren't here for the selection process?”

 

“Nope. More training for two weeks, then we go back on active duty.” Eagle’s expression went dark at this.

 

“Rough mission?”  I kept my eyes on my food.

 

“Eagle, shut it. And you-”, Wolf glared at me, “-eat up, we have combat training today.”

 

I shut up.

 

* * *

 

Combat was held in classroom C. The floor was covered in matts. The walls were also lined. A projector screen descended from the ceiling. I kept to the back of the group. E-Unit was also there. I didn't particularly want to be noticed. Italy taught me to kill people, not practice killing them. The instructor walked into the room.

 

“You will pair off. Today, we'll be working on open sparring. Leopard, you're with Wolf and Cub.”

 

Well shit. Supposedly, I was some MI6 Agent. You know, the type of person that had a military background in combat.

 

My unit divided themselves up.  Snake paired up with Eagle. I got thrown into a threesome with Cub, and Wolf. The instructor came over as Wolf, and Cub started in.

 

Cub had studied with SCORPIA, but it looks like he hadn't gotten far in his training. He was good, but not the kind of good that comes with fighting against many people that moonlighted as Russian assassins. It would still be hard for Cub to defend himself against multiple attackers with SAS level training. Wolf’s style was more traditional military combat. Wolf was more focused on offence, and flipping Cub, whereas Cub was more focused on defense. They eventually had to call a tie.

 

“Don't worry, Leopard, I'll go easy on you.” Wolf squared off with me.

 

I kept my stand lose, easy, like I was waiting for a bus. I mentally reminded myself that these men, arrogant, and annoying they may be, they are not my enemies, and I should not attempt to actually kill them.

 

Wolf threw the first punch, a right hook to my face. I skirted out of the way. I blocked his next two jabs. Do not engage. Wolf stepped into my space, forcing me to duck his next blow.

 

Punch. Block. Punch. Block.

 

“Hit back, Leopard,” the instructor yelled at me.

 

I deliberately let Wolf grab me, and take me down. I tapped out, not fighting his hold.

 

“Leopard, GET UP.” I jumped up at the instructor’s words. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

 

“Practicing hand-to-hand combat, sir.”

 

“Oh? You are ‘practicing hand-to-hand combat’, are you? Not how to die or piss me off?” The man looked like he was going to shit himself in anger.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Bullshit.”  He walked directly behind me, and stood there. “Start again.”

 

I took up my same stance. I blocked Wolf’s punches. _Whoose_. The instructor threw a rubber block at my head. I dodged it, and dropped to the ground to avoid Wolf’s fists. I rolled out the way from his legs. I jumped up. The instructor swooped in, aiming for my back with a fist. I grabbed him, and threw him  onto the mat. Wolf moved toward me. I smirked, leapt at him, and he froze. I wrapped my legs around his neck, and flipped him over. I leapt up, keeping a foot braced on his neck, and stared at the instructor.

 

“Better,” was all the instructor said. I took my foot off his neck, and hauled Wolf up. “You hold back again like that, and it’s KP Duty for a month. You're to report to the Sergeant after this class”

 

I kept silent, shaking off the adrenalin. The instructor (no, he never gave his name) didn't understand that unless I held back, there was a high possibility that I would kill somebody. Italy  had been about attacking with no reservation, accomplishing your objective in the shortest amount of time, holding back was not an option. I was holding back here, because if I demonstrated a lot of skill, then I would get noticed.

 

Combat Class ended quickly after that. Apparently, this was the first day back for K and E Units, and the instructor had wanted a short demonstration of everybody’s abilities. I quickly walked to the Sergeant's office. I knocked, and entered.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I wanted a quick word about your schedule, and the expectations of you. Have a seat.”

 

Well crud. I sat down, keeping my eyes forward.

 

“You will participate in RTI, according to MI6. You will make your best effort in all your classes, that includes combat, Leopard.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“I know what happened in Italy, and I did refuse multiple times about the RTI, and swimming exercises. You must undertake the medical assessment, Leopard.” His eyes were oddly kind. I controlled my flinch carefully, holding up my poker face. “If you want me to accompany you . . .?” I shook my head, hastily. “Alright, the RTI is next weekend for everybody. I scheduled the medical today along with multiple assessments. Leopard, you have to attend it within the next three days on your own time, if you fail to go to the scheduled one today.”

 

“Sir.”

 

The man sighed at me. “Right. Here’s your schedule.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Dismissed.” I left quickly. I apparently had a medical skills assessment to attend.

 

 

* * *

 

The medical skills test actually went well. I was a med student before Italy, just to start my residency(Bloody MI6). The language assessment propter was surprised that I am mostly fluent in English, Spanish, Latin, Italian, and Russian. The Russian was more self-defense. Lunch had been slightly better than breakfast, my Unit had eaten in complete silence I completed all the other assessments, apart from the medical assessment. I really really do not like doctors, and why yes, I see the irony. Lunch had been slightly better than breakfast, my Unit had eaten in complete silence. I did my KP Duty, which consisted of cleaning the mess hall, after diner. I walked back to my hut, and started turning for the night.

 

My phone buzzed. I paused, sitting in my bed, and grabbed it out from under my pillow. There should be only one person that had my number. I picked up the call. The rest of the K-Unit was playing poker in a corner; Snake stretched his arms, and eased a card from under the back of his collar. I smirked.

 

The person on the other line breathed slowly. “What is the one place to never go?” The man was speaking Latin.

 

I breathed out, slowly. “The place where angry Russians sleep.” My Russian was perfect. The codes meant that the line was secure on my end.

 

“Hey, Grasshopper, how goes the drills?” Yassen Gregorovich switched to Russian with a sarcastic tone, his native language. 

  
*To Be Continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Furthermore, any person that want to further research the selection process for the SAS, watch this documentary, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KY08ZXSO1CI (It’s about how the Australian Military does their selection process.) . There are no up to date documentaries about the UK SAS, because of the whole “we're a secret organization, and you're not really supposed to have videos of us”. The Australian video is done in such a way that all the instructors’ faces are covered, and assigned letters. The selectees are given numbers, and the documentary ends right before the final choice is made so that you never know who got in. UK Forces are largely undocumented. SAS soldiers refresh their training every 16 months. Appreciate the two days of research, people, so please be very nice when I screw something up.


	3. Conversations With People(or how Wolf is a jerk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter, and the next chapter contain heavy triggers for torture, water boarding, and a general terror of medical objects. Several chapters will contain similar content in the future. 
> 
> Stuff that is italicized is generally a flashback. I’m going to also indicate that with the time in asterisks before the flashback starts, and there should be horizontal lines. I apologize for any weird contractions, but AO3 wipes them when I copy the text from google docs( Screw Windows- freaking bullies).
> 
> I found better research for the SAS?:) https://www.youtube.com/user/Tompa531/videos This is a person’s youtube channel that contains several episodes that take a indepth look at the SAS. I am now the resident expert on the SAS in my house.

_Last Time:_

_My phone buzzed. I paused, sitting in my bed, and grabbed it out from under my pillow. There should be only one person that had my number. I picked up the call. The rest of the K-Unit was playing poker in a corner; Snake stretched his arms, and eased a card from under the back of his collar. I smirked._

 

_The person on the other line breathed slowly. “What is the one place to never go?” The man was speaking Latin._

 

_I breathed out, slowly. “ The place where angry Russians sleep.” My Russian was perfect. The codes meant that the line was secure on my end._

 

_“Hey, Grasshopper, how goes the drills?” Yassen Gregorovich switched to Russian with a sarcastic tone, his native language._

 

_*To Be Continued*_

 

* * *

 

“Haven't baked any cookies yet.” I continued speaking Russian. Yassen spoke only a tiny amount of Latin. He'd spent several months teaching my Russian, and Arabic. I had taught him a  small amount of Latin, for codes, in return. I was supposed to sound like I was talking about baking.

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“The man you owe a debt to is here.” The trick with speaking in tongues was to switch the codes, and languages often, and never mention names of places or people.

 

“MI6?”

 

“They do not like the mud.” MI6 had sent me to the SAS, because they wanted me in a military environment at all times, less of a chance to form attachments to people. They could then more easily explain my inevitable death.

 

“Good. Your assessments?”

 

“I do not like red crosses or puddles for decoration.” You should also use obscure words, and terminology that will hopefully throw people off.

 

“Felix, they're not SCORPIA. Give them a chance.”

“Ice, this isn't a long term solution. How’s the kid?” 

 

“Trouble _._ ” I smirked lightly. The reason why Yassen had left SCORPIA is because they ordered him to kill a six year-old. It had not gone over well. Yassen had been left to babysit the kid while I went back to MI6 to keep Yassen out of jail. Jamie, the kid, was aces, and was worth the trouble of the past months. “How’s Alex?”

 

“Not baked well. Slightly burnt after the last attempt.” I meant that Rider wasn't well trained, and still might be injured from his last mission.

 

“Have any trouble?”

 

“Not really. Burn the house done yet?” I was asking him if he has killed anybody.

 

“Nah, it’s been quiet. I’ve been teaching Jamie more Russian.”

 

“Don’t you dare teach him bad habits.”

 

“Of course not.” I could hear his smirk. "I gotta go. Be careful.”

 

“Love you. Bye.” I hung up the phone gently. I watched my teammates’ poker game.

 

“Who was that?”, Wolf asked me. “You’re not supposed to have a phone.” The poker game to a grinding halt. I say “grinding”, because both Eagle, and Cub exchanged cards under the table.

 

“My friend. He worries. The phone was an agreement between me, and the sergeant.” Technically, the agreement was between the MI6, and I, but the sergeant would back me if Wolf asked him.

 

“We know nothing about you. We don’t know if you’re a spy.” Wolf stood up. The rest of the team watch our interaction, waiting for the dice to fall.

 

“You don’t. I don’t know if one of you is a spy either.” Rider’s poker face became more stone-like.

 

“That’s not good enough.”

 

“Well it’s all I have. Look, the line is secure. My friend wouldn’t have called me if it wasn’t an emergency.”

 

“Yeah, and what was that ‘emergency’?”

 

“He wanted to talk about cookies.”

 

“Cookies?”

 

I sighed deeply. “His idea of emergencies are different. He thinks that cookies are more important than government secrecy.”

 

I did my best to not picture Yassen Gregorovich in a frilly apron. I still have the pictures as “my get out of jail free card”. Of course, Yassen hadn’t understood the importance of stress baking until after Italy, when we all stayed up past one in the morning, baking hundreds of cookies, to avoid going to sleep.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“Go tell the Sergeant on me then. I don’t have anything else to tell you.”

 

“Why were you speaking Russian?”

 

“He’s from Russia, and likes me to practice my Russian.”

 

“That is the worst explanation I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Yep, and that’s why you should believe me. I mean, if I was a spy, shouldn’t I have a better excuse?”

 

“Unless you’re double playing me.”

 

“For the love of the- I’m going to sleep. Wake me when Wolf starts to make sense. I can sleep through the next war.” I turned over in my bed, and tried to shut my eyes. If I protested too much, I would come off as the “Methinks she doth protest too much”. It was way better if I just threw up my hands, and got some sleep.

 

* * *

_*Flashback- 7 months ago*_

_“Who do you work for!? Is it MI6? Do you work for MI6?” I coughed, spluttering on the cement floor._

_The SCORPIA agent forced me back in the tub, downing me again. He dreged me back up, out of the tub, and threw me on the cold floor. I tried to protect my stomach, as he kicked me repeatedly. My hands were tied with plastic zip ties._

_“-Trying to pass for SCORPIA, pathetic.” The man hauled me to my feet, by my hair. “Let’s see how you handle the Doctor.” I panicked, fighting the man , trying to get the black hood off my face, stomping my feet, and bashing my elbows against him. He only laughed at my helplessness._

_I did my best to fight him, as he forced me down what seemed like a hallway. He shoved me inside a room, and slammed the door shut. He whipped off the bag. I was in a operation theater. It was surrounded on all sides by one way mirrors. A man was preparing a surgical table with chemicals, sterilizing it._

_“Hello, I’m the doctor, what can we do to help you today?” The man was small, middle-aged, and balding. It looked like a mortgage agent, not a SCORPIA interrogator._

* * *

 

I woke, breathing slowly in and out. It was 3:00am. I got up, stretched, and started to prepare myself for the day ahead.

* * *

 

There are ten things I learned the first day in the SAS, not counting the day before:

  1. Eagle will talk, no matter how or why. You should not engage, that leads to prolonged, one-sided conversation about Everything.

  2. Wolf hates people.

  3. Snake does not care how it happens, but he better have coffee before Combat Class. Somebody tried to steal his. It ended with the poor bastard on the ground bleeding, while the medic calmly drank his coffee.

  4. Cub is silent, and notices everything.

  5. The Combat Instructor made me take him down multiple times in front of the whole class so he could demonstrate new techniques. Lesson learned: You do not slack in that guy’s class.

  6. The instructors never give their names

  7. whoever invented combat training first thing in the morning hated life.

  8. The Sergeant was serious about me attending the medical exam; he told Wolf. Wolf ordered me to attend it today. I kinda “forgot”.

  9. You should never make a joke about the cook’s food. She smacked Eagle in the face with a ceramic spoon. He didn’t have a chance to wash it off for the rest of the day so he went around with yellow-greenish goo

  10. Eagle will continue to be a preppy jerk that annoys everybody around him.




 

* * *

 

Wolf caught me after my KP Duty later that very day. There was nobody around.

 

“Why did you skip it?”

 

“Felt like it.” I grinned at him, praying for him to buy the “she’s a girl, and can't do shit” routine.

 

“Bullshit. Try again.”

 

“I-I don’t like doctors.” I couldn't look at him.

 

“Why? ‘Rough mission?’”,  He asked, throwing my past words back at me.

 

“Yeah.” I pause, because he deserves an explanation. Yassen’s right. These guys aren't SCORPIA, even if they kinda hate my guts. Then again . . . “The last doctor I met had a shitty bedside manner.”

 

“So you've sworn off all doctors, and are making my life difficult?”

 

“Yeah. Sorry.” I was too. Wolf was being a jerk, because I hadn’t gone through the same selection process, I was a girl(which might disrupt his Unit), I was a shady character, and now I was putting up a fight over something that he probably thought was common, and not scary. He had amble reason to hate me. I was a threat to his friends, his mission, and his culture.

 

“I will not have you leaving my unit a man short when we deploy. You either go now with me accompanying you to make sure that you go or I tell the whole team tomorrow, and we get to have the joy of frogmarching you across the compound at 6:30, right before breakfast.” Wolf grinned evilly at me. The bastard knew that everybody would be walking to breakfast. Berk.

 

“Now, please.” I muttered, glaring at him. All of those nice thoughts I’d had about him vanished.

 

“Come on, then.” We marched across the compound.

 

I breathed slowly, and released. The building didn’t look scary. It looked like a standard medical facility. I tried to pretend like I was entering it for the sake of practicing medicine on somebody else, somebody that needed my help. I entered it, breathing in, and out, slowly. Wolf entered behind me.

  
*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hit kudos or comment. Seriously, please tell me if I left something out or you hate the story or like it or whatever. It makes my week, and the long hours of research (all of the research), worth it.


	4. Ginger Martin Freeman(aka The Dreaded Hospital)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know a lot about Russian schooling so forgive me for any mistakes.. I did fudge it a little(a lot). Potential doctors can get their degree at 23, but they still have to complete their residency. I am sorry for irritating Russians in any way.
> 
> Reviews inspire me to upload more at a faster rate. Which is good for the rest of you, because it’s going to be about ten chapters(Hopefully less-I'm cutting down the original plotline), before Nick Fury enters the stage. Sorry for that, but Felix needs to bond with other people, before being introduced to the crazy that is the Avengers.  
> ( *cough* combined efforts of Steve The Trull, and Stark *cough*)

_Last Time:_

_I breathed slowly, and released. The building didn't look scary. It looked like a standard medical facility. I tried to pretend like I was entering it for the sake of practicing medicine on somebody else, somebody that needed my help. I entered it, breathing in, and out, slowly. Wolf entered behind me._

* * *

 

The entire place smelled like antiseptic. I forced myself to keep breathing. Wolf nudged me further into the room. The place looked like a typical military hospital. I could see the group ward off to the right. There were operating theaters to down the hallway to the left. There were exam rooms straight back, and a ramshackle front desk in the center. Wolf led me over to the desk.

 

“Hi, new recruit. Needs a work-up.” Wolf flashed the woman a smile. Who does he think he’s fooling?

 

“I’m fine. Really. I came. You looked. I'll just be leaving now.” I flashed a smile, and turned to leave. Wolf grabbed my arm and swung me around.

 

“She doesn't like needles.” Okay, when did he get that much charm? Socially inept, my butt.

 

“I'm fine with needles. It’s the doctors that are assholes.” I tried to wiggle away.

 

“Uh, right this way.” The nurse showed us into an exam room. “A doctor will be with you shortly. Please take off all clothes, and put this gown on. Sir? Sir? Aren't you going to leave?” The nurse didn't seem fooled by the supposed charm that Wolf had acquired. Good for her.

 

“Nah, I’m gonna wait until the doc shows up. She may attempt to escape through the air vents or something.” He shrugged as if to say, what can you do?. I snapped my gaze away from the air vents. It was the only building in the camp that had air vents, because of possible airborne, hazardous gases, and it would be a disservice to not use them.

 

“Right.” The nurse hastily left, after clearly deciding that she was not paid enough to deal with Wolf’s crazy. Smart lady.

 

“Can you at least turn around?”

 

Wolf did so at my request, and I changed out of my clothes. My dirty clothes, I might add, because of having to crawl through gutter drains for the urban mock-up. Yay mud. I might have thrown the muddy clothes in his face. It distracted him from looking closely at my scars. I had several scars that looked like dissection marks on my chest, and back, along with smaller scars all over my body. My right leg looked pretty bad. A single scar twisted around my leg, like a single, skinny orange peel. I hopped up on the exam table. The room didn't look like a nightmare from hell. The doctor came in. The doc was dressed fatigues. He was a small ginner man with smile lines. He basically was a ginner Martin Freedman. It is entirely possible that I am not firing at all four cylinders.

 

“Hi, I'm Doctor Wilson. I hear that you have a slight fear of doctors?” The guy spoke with a Scottish accent.

 

I ignored the doctor, and asked, “Wolf, can you leave now?”

 

“Fine, but I’m right outside the door.” Wolf left, shutting the door behind him. I think that was supposed to be more of a threat.

 

“Yes, I have a well deserved fear of all doctors, and most medical personnel. There is a high possibility that I will attempt to incapacitate you. Are you sure that you don't want me transferred?” I smirked slightly at him.

 

“Nah. I served as a field medic with injured, skilled SAS members. Anyway, this will not take long, or hurt, alright?”

 

“Your funeral.”

 

“Mmm. Could you stand on the scale for me?” I stood calmly as he took down my weight, height, and blood pressure on a clipboard. Wilson explained exactly what he was doing. I ended up, back on the table.

 

“So your file said that you were a med student?”, He asked as he checked my lungs.

 

“Yeah. I got into a special, accelerated course.” Wilson did the hammer thingy.

 

“How? You're twenty-one?” Wilson palpated my legs.

 

“I studied in Russia. I never completed the last two years on my residency.” Technically, I did and technically, I was nineteen, but MI6 had doctored my records to get me into the SAS. But SCORPIA didn't really give that information out to the public.

 

“Interesting. Planning on doing your residency?” Wilson started to palpate my arms.

 

“Don’t have the time.” Like MI6 cared if I had my degree. They could just forge the documents if I needed them for a mission.

 

“Alright. Could you walk around for a moment?” I stood, and did as he instructed. I sat back down per his directions. “Have you experienced any injury to your right leg recently?” He was already examining the scar.

 

“Obviously.” Wilson raised his eyebrows at me. “A doc had a thing for barbed wire.”

 

“Okay, do you experience any pain, tenderness, stiffness, or lack of feeling?”

 

“When it’s wet or cold. No. Yep. And yeah.” I kept my eyes straight ahead. SCORPIA trains its people that pain and emotion are weakness, and you sure better not show either.

 

“Alright. Do you have any trouble fighting or doing PT?”

 

“No.” SCORPIA  had a whole “thing” for people that couldn't perform to their standard, after they've started training. Death. Dead men tell no tales.

 

“Alright. Lean forward.” Wilson palpated my back. His hand brushed my burn mark across my left shoulder. “And this is?”

 

“A scorpion. I got it, because I thought they were badass.” Definity didn’t get it to be branded a traitor. Nope.

 

“Right.” The amount of sarcasm contained in that word could power a tank. “Looks like it’s healing, whatever you got it for. Are you having any internal problems?”

 

What the hell. “No. Uh. No.” I ask you to name one girl that wants to be asked that question by an unknown man. Actually, never mind.

 

“Alright. That’s it then. Your medical records say that you have all your shots. Any questions?”

 

“Do you want to build a snowman?”, I muttered, darkly.

 

“Let it go.” Wilson smiled at me. “There are clothes in that cupboard, and you are free to go. Come back if you have any questions, or concerns, and you have to have a medical every six months.”

 

“Cool.” He left. I quickly changed into a spare uniform, collected my dirty clothing, and left the room- and ran smack into Wolf.

 

“Jesus. Don’t you have anything better to do?” I took a couple of steps back. I started walking to the door of the facility. Wolf, being the irritant he is, followed.

 

“Nope.” He smiled at me. New rule: SAS soldiers should not smile. It’s scary in the way of “OMG- APOCALYPSE- run for your lives!” Like no smiling, we do not smile in the SAS. “Do you have any other irrational fears that I need to know of?”

 

“What does your Unit even do?” It was a solid question. The SAS’s Units are specialized. There’s Boat, Air, Mountain, and Mobility. And then the Units are specialized.

 

“We're Mountain. And supposedly, you’re standing for linguistics and mobility”, he said this with an undertone of judgement for me, because I hadn't already known. Well, this wouldn't be too bad. SCORPIA required its members to learn several languages, navigate all types of terrain, and acquire vehicles that wouldn't break down. And yeah, even their medical staff has to go through their basic training, and learn how to kill a man with a paperclip.

 

“Right. Let’s go home, dear.” I stomped past him, and into the  rain. Dramatically, I tell you. Dramatically as I spit out the water, running down my face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the Unit didn't seem bothered by the lateness of our arrival back “home”. Wait, ohhh. They thought me, and Wolf had -ew. I get kudus for keeping a poker face through the mental image of Wolf, and sex. I hastily hit the sack, trying to shake the thoughts of sexual Wolf, and doctors. The rest of the Unit did the same.

 

* * *

 

*Flashback-2 Years Ago*

_“You do not dream, Number Five. You do not move when sleeping. You do not snore. You do not grumble, and you sure as hell do not move a muscle. DO YOU HEAR ME?”_

_“Yeah.”_ Strike. _My CO struck me with the bullwhip. I clung tighter to the post. My shirt was in tatters, red lashes dawned my back, and I could do was grit my teeth, and say, “Yes, Sir.”_

_I could feel the entire Compound’s gaze on me. I was a lesson, a dummy to be used in a practical lesson on why it is not a good idea to make any movement while asleep. Assassins were supposed to be silent, deadly, and not human. I did my best to not focus on the pain, and let go of reality._

 

* * *

 

I woke silently, looking around for the source that had woken me.

 

It was Rider. He was shaking in his bed, sheets tangled, and sweaty. I froze, my brain was still stuck on “make no movements”. Eagle rose quietly in the dark. He gently called out “Cub.”

  
*To Be Continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a point to the medical phobia, mostly because I have trouble distinguishing between characters from different novels I'm working on. Also, I've always felt that exposing different people with the same fear helps to differentiate them, because they react differently. Basically, there was a point to this chapter. I apologize for the Frozen reference.Nobody deserved that. I apologize for the abrupt ending but I didn't want to go too far into the next chapter. Birk, burke, and berk are completely different words. I generally refuse to Brit-pick my fics on principle but I found out that burk means to suffocate somebody to death, and who can resist that?The words were also designed by people that hated dyslexic people. That is all. For now. *Gets dragged away by muse*


	5. Star Wars and Night Maneuvers

Last Time: _I woke silently, looking around for the source that had woken me._

_It was Rider. He was shaking in his bed, sheets tangled, and sweaty. I froze, my brain was still stuck on “make no movements”. Eagle rose quietly in the dark. He gently called out “Cub.”_

_*To Be Continued*_

 

* * *

I got up swiftly, moving to stand over Cub’s bed. I carefully clasped his shoulder. He sat up, abruptly, shaking, his eyes were wide open. He gasped, shuddering, trying to breath again. I breathed out, slowly. Rider’s brown eyes were so damn fearful. I breathed in. I kept my hand where it was.

 

“You’re at Brecon Beacons, surrounded by protective SAS soldiers. It’s gonna be alright. Take a breath,” Eagle’s voice had lost its joking manner, but gained a protective undertone. It said, _you are mine, and anything, anything that comes through that door has to go through me_.

 

“I’m fine.” Rider’s voice belied his words. It was shaking, choking, clogged up. I glanced around the room. The rest of the team were obviously awake, but none moved. We all were frozen, except for Eagle.

 

“Scooch over,” he said. He sat down next to Cub, and put an arm around him.

 

“We don’t hug in the military.” Cub’s voice was still shaky, like slippery ice chips, scattering across the hut.

 

“Yeah, good thing we’re all macho Spec Ops,” I said weakly, and sat down on the other side of Rider. Nobody deserves to be alone after having  . . .well . . .something. Something. Damnit, Cub shouldn’t be having nightmares. He’s freaking fifteen, at most, and so skinny. “Now come on, lay back down, and go to sleep. We still have five hours to go.”

 

Cub froze as I gently tugged him back down. Eagle looked kinda shocked at me. But then, I was a little shocked that the asshole, babbling macho guy cared about Cub as much as he obviously did. Eagle had spent the past day attempting to trip me up at every turn, because I was the newbie. Cub eventually laid back down. I sat there for a few minutes.

 

“I’ll keep watch, okay? Just go back to sleep.”

 

“You need to sleep as well, Leppard.” Wolf had finally spoken. Wow, that was akin to him professing his undying love for me.

 

“Nah. I wanna get caught up on my reading.” I went back to my bed, and pulled out a worn copy of the original Star Wars. Yes, I am a nerd; no, I will not fix your computer.

 

Wolf didn’t like me enough to fight me on it. If I was tired, then I was more likely to be binned. And yeah, that was what Wolf wants. So everybody went back to sleep while I kept watch over them.

 

* * *

 

Four hours later, I gently tapped Cub’s shoulder to wake him up, made sure that he was awake, and left for Kitchen Duty.

 

None of my Unit members went easy on me that day, but Wolf snagged me an extra cup of coffee during breakfast. Not, that it made combat any easier.

 

“Get off your ass, and hit BACK, Leopard!”

 

I rolled lightly to my feet at the instructor’s words. I came in low and hard, rolling back down to the ground, and sweeping Wolf’s feet from under him. I artfully ducked one of the blocks that the instructor would randomly throw at me, and pulled one of his feet so he also went down, I wrapped my hands gently around his throat, and squeezed gently. He froze. I backed off, and helped the instructor back up to his feet.

 

“Good, Leopard.”

 

I don’t think he would be saying that if he knew how close I came to killing him. Scorpia does teach its people how to spar, but if you get tortured then you start getting wires crossed, and think that anybody coming at you wants to kill you. So, it was a matter of uncrossing the wires one by one. The only person that could take me on when I was actively trying to kill was Yassen Gregorovich, and those fights still ended in ties a lot because of unhealed injuries.

 

The rest of the day flew by in a haze of military uniforms and rain. Night fell with it quickly, and I suffered the delusion that I could have a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.

 

* * *

 

I woke suddenly, not moving an inch. I took stock of my surroundings. There were people moving around the hut. I grabbed the knife from under my pillow, and got up carefully. I reversed my grip, and moved so I to the left of the door. There was a man outside. I whipped open the door, hauled the creepy dude in, holding the tip of the knife against his jugular. He froze, hands raised.

 

Wolf finally woke, and turned the lights on. It was a bloody SAS soldier. And why no, I did not move the knife. Bastard woke me up before breakfast and he’d better have a damn good reason for doing that.

 

“Night exercise”, the man said carefully, hands still raised in the universal we-come-in-peace position.

 

“Sorry.” I took the knife away, and took a few steps back. The rest of team stared at me. Well, you shouldn’t sneak around soldiers.

 

Soon, the K-Unit was outside, awaiting further instruction. Apparently, it was just us that got this joy. The Sarge passed up and down in front of us. I did my best to not roll my eyes. Scorpia was kinda infamous for waking people up in the middle of the night, loading them onto a plane, and dropping them off in unknown places for the hell of it. Seriously, my old CO laughed as he shoved four of us out a plane with only three parachutes.

 

“You are going to take a little trip. Load up.” A truck had pulled up. We all clambered in. There were several packs inside. “Grab a pack and shut up.”

 

So, we all sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop for about thirty minutes. Shortly, we unloaded onto rocky ground. Ah, I could see where this was going.

 

“Your mission is to scale the rock surface five times in seventy minutes. Each time, you must have a free climber reach the top, belay the lines, carry equipment up, get back down and take all the lines back down, and repeat with a different free-climber.” We all stared at the Sargent. It was going to be an oddly specific, trying exercise. Each climb would have to be exactly fourteen minutes. “I suggest you get started.”

 

Wolf had Eagle go first as the lead-climber. Apparently, the man was actually good at his job. We all made our way up, and back down. It was easy the first two times (the second was with Snake lead-climbing). After that, my arms started to tire. SAS packs weigh about 60 pounds, and you have to haul it up through brute strength. Wolf switched out the belayer each time. I went third. I quickly made my way up the cliff, securing the line. My hands were scratched up by the rock’s surface, but I made it to the top in record time. I secured the lines, and helped to haul up my teammates. We rappelled down once more. Alex went last. He was quick, and skilled, making it to the top quickly. We went through the routine for the last time with Wolf. The Sarge let us go after we were done. And no, he did not give us a ride so we all had to make the five mile hike back to camp.

 

The Sarge had planned this out so there was no time to rest between breakfast and the hike. Actually, we barely made it back in time to eat. Now, I’m not complaining. I’ve gone days without sleep. Sleep deprivation is   . . .well, you can figure it out. I just haven’t done this without Yassen.

 

Combat class was normal. So yeah. There. Take that Scorpia. I did not kill anybody from sleep deprivation. Ha.

  
No, it happened during underwater combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered that Horowitz doesn’t have Scorpia in caps, so I’ll start writing it that way as well(I’m too lazy to go back through and change past SCORPIA right now). I’m sorry for not updating. I really haven’t forgotten about this, and I won’t, I just got really busy with Life. My phone got completely wiped, because of Apple not being able to wire correctly (Not my fault- I have like the Otterbox military grade case with the metal hinges, and it got stuck in “recovery mode”, and I can’t back it up). I did get Russian Roulette as a consolation prize of “yep, your phone, your photos, contacts, and everything got wiped, but hey Yassen is a bamf”. I still get so much imaginary cookies for not losing my mind over that. So I wanted to finish it before I updated, and then I got really sick, behind in schoolwork (so behind), and don’t have a good internet connection(like I ever did). So yeah, my thanksgiving basically sucked, and then Christmas happened which meant that I had to do shit on other works, and organize Christmas presents. But I will take pity kudos and reviews(even if people yell at me for not updating for several months).
> 
> Um, I did want to say that it is hard to work Alex action into a fic that’s entire purpose is to make sure that he stops being a spy against his will. So any ideas for that are welcome. #Alex Rider as Agent of Shield
> 
> Nearest cliff to Scorpia: Dolomites. So yeah, Felix was trained in cliff climbing. Like I did the research!


	6. I knife my instructor

Last Time: _Combat class was normal. So yeah. There. Take that Scorpia. I did not kill anybody from sleep deprivation. Ha._

_No, it happened during underwater combat._

 

* * *

 

I kept my head down during the ten minute lecture time. Lectures are held in the mess hall or a free classroom. This time, it was held next to the lake. Not a good sign. The lecture was about underwater combat, and the SAS believes in shoving people into a lake.

 

The instructor ordered the K-Unit to suit up with underwater gear, and get in. He also handed out a bunch of fake, plastic knives. You don’t need to be a genius to see where this is going. I grited my teeth, and got into the water after suiting up.

 

“Leopard, Snake, Cub against Wolf, Eagle and me. You have thirty minutes.”  I dove head first into the water. It’s a fake mission, I told myself. If I fuck it up, well, I’ll just look like a stupid girl. The men dove in after me. The mask protected my face; I would be fine.

 

I turned in the water, and stabbed Eagle. He reeled away, back up to the surface. Snake was taken out by the instructor. I brought the knife across my arm. No blood. It was still a game. I swam after the instructor. I grappled with the instructor. I dodged his knife, but caught his elbow across my mouth. I kicked out with both feet, catching him in his chest hard. I fake knifed him in the chest. I floated backwards as I held my breath. The mask had broken.

 

I panicked. My hands began to shake. I was still in the game though. I looped a leg around the instructor, and pulled him up, knifing him in the back. He broke the surface, signaling that he was out. Alex was still swimming against Wolf. Alex was trying to maneuver Wolf, but the man was not having it.

 

We closed in on Wolf. I was running out of air. I shoved my panic down, and tried to think happy thoughts, in a knife fight, underwater. I couldn’t hold out much longer. I lunged at Wolf. He blocked me. His eyes stared at me, taking in my broken mask, and he left me an opening by accident. I didn’t take it. I kept flashing back to Italy. It didn’t matter, because I had distracted him enough. Alex got behind Wolf, and stabbed him in the back.

 

We broke the surface.

 

I dragged my body to the land, shaking lightly. I puked up water once I was on dry land. I got to my feet, and handed over my equipment. My hands were shaking slightly. Wolf kept staring at me. He watched me not ‘kill’ him when I had the chance. My clothes were clinging to me, and I couldn’t stop coughing.

 

“You alright, Leopard?”, Snake asked me. Medic’s instinct and all that.

 

“Fine”, I said, trying not to gasp.

 

“Right, what did you do wrong?”, the instructor asked. “I underestimated Leopard.”

 

“I underestimated Cub”, Wolf said.

 

“I froze”, I said calmly.

 

“I forgot how to swim and fight”, Snake said.

 

“Didn’t react fast enough”, Eagle said.

 

The instructor nodded at us. “Dismissed”, he ordered. We walked away, heading back to the cabin to change. Wolf at least waited until we were inside before slamming me against the wall.

 

“Who are you?”, he roared at me. I grinned at him cheerfully.

 

“Leopard, SAS.” I kept smiling as I slammed by leg up, between his knees. He didn’t let go. I didn’t struggle. Good I may be, but I didn’t stand a chance against five men in my mindset right now.

 

“Why didn’t you ‘kill’ me?”

 

“I froze”, I said calmly.

 

“No, you didn’t. You have the same look on your face until the instructor throws a brick at you.”

 

“I froze, Wolf”, I said sharply. “I was underwater with a plastic knife, and couldn’t breath. So yeah, I froze.”

 

“Leave her, Wolf. We’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry.”

 

I changed quickly, trying to wring out my clothing. The others did their best to avert their gaze and I did as well. Changing with men got less awkward when you’re used to having fifty men watching as  . . .well-it wasn’t as awkward as you thought. I’d lived in coed barracks. And yeah, there were a number of people who weren’t herterosexual. It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, Yassen might have a thing against clothes for all the times I’ve seen him naked. Go body positivity and all that. So no, there isn’t anything sexual going on, perverts. Besides, it was more of a problem if they saw my scars than if you saw my boobs.

 

We all hurried to our assigned language classes. I got put in a mix. The instructor would switch back and forth between languages. Ever played musical chairs? Yeah, it’s like that.

 

And that would be how the day went. All of my classes were with K-Unit, and yeah it sucked. Turns out being a spy is worse than being the girl. Big surprise there, right.

 

So that would be how the the day went. I had the pleasant joy of going into that damn lake for a second time. And the suckiness of the day repeated tomorrow, and friday as well. The K-Unit kept ignoring me, shoulder knocking me, and tripping me up during class. I kept a cheerful smile on my face, and whistled during the day.

 

Because that’s how you deal. You keep moving, and watching people’s backs, even if they don’t give a damn about you.

  
I swam at night. SAS rules technically forbid people from going out of bounds, but I’d rather get grounded than a teammate killed. First time I did it, I couldn’t get up past three feet. I just stood there for thirty minutes. I got up to swimming around by Friday. It was a good thing too, because RTI was tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite a lot of this chapter at least three parts. My god, do I miss Ash Cassidy. Writing Felix means I need to write honestly, and she is infinitely complicated.
> 
> I maintain that I have never been in the military. I did do a lot of research though(notes were involved with pencil and paper), but I am not any sort of expert on anything. And to be honest, Horowitz was less accurate about the SAS. Like code names aren’t given in the SAS. Yeah, I’m mad too. Code names are reserved for units, not individuals.


	7. RTI(Felix hates the SAS and always always caries s things to pick locks)

Last Time: I _swam at night. SAS rules technically forbid people from going out of bounds, but I’d rather get grounded than a teammate killed. First time I did it, I couldn’t get up past three feet. I just stood there for thirty minutes. I got up to swimming around by Friday. It was a good thing too, because RTI was tomorrow._

 

* * *

 

They grabbed me in the middle of the night. We get told to not fight them as they drag us from the compound. That’s bullshit in the real world. The best time to escape is in the beginning, because they’re too damn busy trying to confuse you, and if you’re not confused then go for it.

 

The RTI team hauled the K-Unit and I into a truck, and drove several miles. I carefully counted the turns, and seconds between each one. It added up to about an hour on rocky terrain so about twenty miles. I forced myself to not panic. Yassen had blindfolded me before and locked me in a room (once to help and once when he was Scorpia). I’ve done this before. I just need to do it again with less killing.

 

One of the RTIers grabbed me as soon as we were inside, what I could sense, was a concrete building. They didn’t bother taking off the cliched black hood. One of them slammed me roughly against the wall. They forced me into a stress position. I zoned out for a couple, sleeping when I could.

 

Rules of Interrogation:

  1. Don’t do whatever they want from you.

  2. Don’t say anything except your name, rank, number, and date of birth-try not to(if you have to, only give things that don’t matter)

  3. Eat, drink, sleep when you can, but don’t ask for more

  4. Damage control-this is a game that you will not win

  5. Assume that everybody knows what the fuck they’re doing

  6. you’d be dead if you were supposed to be

  7. don’t sign anything or give any verbal answer, because it can be used to forge things

  8. remain neutral at all times

  9. follow no orders, avoid eye contact, and avoid direct touch

  10. underestimate nobody and knew your situation




 

I counted fourteen mistakes that the goons made in the five hours that I had to hold the stress position. I followed my rules to the letter, knowing it was exactly what the SAS teaches. Scorpia learns from and teaches the best after all.

 

You ever wonder how the SAS members don’t end up with PTSD after bullshit like this? They do.

 

The goons kept throwing water over me to wake me up. It was a pretty good method, because I was used to sleeping like the dead, and still being hypervigilant.

 

The interrogations themselves weren’t hard. Yassen is naturally scary. The men that interrogated me were bad at this by Scorpia standards. I kept a bored expression on my face, and ignored them. They didn’t like that, especially since I refused to give them any details.

 

Yassen had been very firm in conquering my triggers after Italy. God bless his ice heart and creepy ways.

 

The second time I was interrogated, they brought Rider in. I kept my gaze straight ahead.

 

Scorpia doesn’t care about hurting kids. Fuck you if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically. It’s just-yeah.

 

“If you don’t cooperate, we will hurt him”, the interrogator said. I kept a firmly blank expression on my face. Yeah, the SAS RTI can’t permanently hurt anybody. Frankly, I was bored. “Strip.”

 

The instructor nodded at one of the guards. He forced my clothing off. Eventually another guard had to help. I stood naked in front of two SAS men, and a fifteen year old boy. Rider was good enough that he didn’t look at me. That was good, it might mean he wouldn’t see my shoulder.

 

“I hear you like waterboarding, bitch. I vote we put him in the pool later”, one of the guards said.

 

And okay, I’m a badass, but there are limits on how far I’ll go in a damn game.

 

I threw myself at the interrogator, slamming up against his body. He and the guards immediately tried to pin me down. I collected bruises like no tomorrow. They pushed me, and I re-bounded into Rider. I taped his wrist twice. Hopefully, he would take the cue to at least be ready.

 

The guards tossed me back into the cello. I slammed hard against the floor. I kept still as they left. I lept up, and quickly took out all the cameras. And yeah, still naked. *yay* I picked the locket (which takes more skill than what the movies say), thank you very much. I made a mental note to hack Google and put ‘learn how to pick locks’ on what being a doctor entails.

 

Seriously, this shit is not on that brochure.

 

I took out a couple other guards. I picked the lock on the K-Unit’s cell. They had been all grouped together. MI6, bastards.

 

“Leopard, what!”, Wolf hissed at me. “We could get in serious trouble for this!”

 

“Ah, you’re adorable”, I said sweetly, putting a southern belle accent on the last word. I hadn’t had the time to snatch pants. I did grab a loose jacket, and several stun guns that I passed around. “Now, I personally want to go sleep in a normal bed, but if you want me to shut the door . . . .?”

 

“Let’s go”, Wolf said. The rest of them nodded.

 

“Good to know this is a democracy”, I bitched softly under my breath. I kept myself in front of them. Even in my state of mind, I knew that there would be hell to pay. Since this was a refresher course, nobody was really supposed to escape or try to escape.Whoops.

 

I kept shooting kneecaps until we were clear. I didn’t break any bones or leave permanent injuries. The K-Unit stayed out of my way. I did get clipped in my shoulder with an actual bullet.

 

I’m sorry to say it didn’t take longer. I was pissed. They’d set me up.

 

I drove the truck back to the compound. The K-Unit were weirdly silent. Even soldiers get worried when you take out ten trained SAS members, and still look pissed. I have a tiny temper problem.

 

I marched straight across the compound. The K-Unit trailed behind me. I barged into the Sergeant’s office, and stabbed a knife into his desk, one centimeter from his left thumb.

 

“Are they amused?”, I asked furiously. The K-Unit stared at me. I kicked the door shut, catching Eagle in the face. “Was this what you wanted, you sick bastard?”

 

“It wasn’t my choice”, the man said softly. “They wanted to see if you would be triggered.”

 

I huffed darkly at that. “Because you know, working for goddamn Italy wasn’t good enough for them. Of course they wanted to see if I could hold my head underwater.”

 

“You leave out tomorrow. O’four hundred.” To his credit, he did look miserable about it.

 

“No back-up?”

 

“Yes. No extraction plan.”

 

“One day, I’m gonna meet James Bond, and we will have a talk about the kind of shit we go through” Despite my disrespectful tone, I couldn’t lose the rigid posture from Italy.

 

“Out of line, Leopard”, he barked.

 

“They’ll be okay until I’m back, right?”, I asked less snappily.

 

“You know they’re trained SAS members, yes?” The Sergeant smiled lightly.

 

“I’ve met Eagle, okay.” I relaxed slightly. “And what do I tell them?”

 

“The higher-ups want to reevaluate you being in the SAS”, he suggested. It was part of the truth. It was good enough.

 

“Okay”, I said at last. There wasn’t a third option to take right now. Either I do the mission or Rider ends up dead.

 

I walked slowly out of the office, shutting the door behind me.

“So?”, Eagle asked me.

 

“Somebody higher up on the food chain wants to see me. I leave tomorrow. You all are fine, nothing even on your record.” I pulled my hair back, and wiped some of the blood off my face. I clenched my fist. My fingers were shaking so badly. I’m not scared of dying. I’m slightly agitated of the possibility of repeating Italy.

 

“Somebody needs to check that shoulder out”, Snake said. He maneuvered me into following him back to the cabin. I pulled on a pair of pants, keeping the stolen jacket wrapped around me.

 

Wolf and the others kept watching me. I sat down on my bunk.

 

“Here”, Rider snatched up a blanket and draped it around my shoulders. I couldn’t look at him.

 

“Cub, go take a walk”, Snake said firmly. Cub left. “You’ve been captured before?”, Snake asked lightly. He pulled out his medic’s kit.

 

“I’m fine”, I said firmly.

 

“You’re bleeding. Y’mind?”, Snake asked. He gestured at my shoulder.

 

“I’m fine”, I said firmly.

 

“Me or the docs at the medcenter.”

 

I nodded, and shrugged the jacket off, keeping the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. They all stared at the scars on my chest.

 

“Yes, I have boobs, virgins.” I glared at them.

 

“You drew attention toward yourself. The rest of us didn’t get it so bad”, Eagle said suddenly. “They didn’t care about us actually. Odd really what with us being all active members of the SAS.”

 

I grited my teeth.“I can’t tell you”, I said.

 

“And why you’re leaving tomorrow after refusing to say anything during RTI.” Wolf crossed his armed.

 

“And the dissection scars”, Snake added. He carefully stitched up my shoulder. They left off the interrogation for a couple minutes.“Do you want pain meds?”

 

“Nah.” I pulled the jacket back on. “And, I say this with great joy, classified.” I grabbed my black bag, and shut it. I didn’t really unpack.

 

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

 

“Classified”, I said shortly. Wolf glared at me. “Should be next week at the latest.”

 

“Well then”, Snake said. “Try to keep the stitches dry and no physical activity for a few days. I’m not re-doing them. Dissolvable.” I almost snorted at the ‘no physical activity’.

 

“Okay, I’m gonna take a walk. Figure y’all wanna speculate in peace.” I left, taking the satellite phone with me.

 

I walked down by the lake, and climbed up into the tree. I called Ice.

 

“Hey”, I said softly in Russian.

 

“MI6?”, he asked. Ice didn’t bother to speak Russian.

 

“Yup.” I switched back to English as well.

 

“You have two weeks until I go all ‘angry Russian’ on them’.” I grinned weakly at his words. Yassen can make one scary Russian (they don’t need guns. They kill you with tiny stabby objects and smile at you like you’re their best friend). “And Alex will be okay?”

 

“Oh yeah. The Sergeant promised.” I contained my urge to sigh.

 

See, Yassen hates this whole situation. If it was up to him, we’d grab Rider and disappear off the map, head out to Mars. But MI6 would let slip all the folk we three have killed, and that would be it. Nobody wants all the alphabet agency coming after them in a ‘who can kill them the quickest and meanest way possible’ showdown.

 

So yeah, it all sucks. And that was before the pirate showed up.

  
*to be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how they did it in the books, but well, it’s wrong technically. RTI is part of the selection process. Learning how to parachute is part of later training. So yeah, Horowitz is less accurate than previously thought. *glares* Do your research!
> 
> So yes, I have a lot of respect for Snake, because I watched a thing about what navy combat medics have to go through in training.
> 
> All the rules of interrogation are SOP for SAS members. I checked. 99% of the stuff that happened during RTI happens during the British SAS selection process. There might be less slurs involved, but I do know that they had to change things because some of the stuff was ruled as actual torture and couldn't be used. So yeah. I’ll add never join the military to my list.
> 
> A lot of SAS members suffer PTSD, because their culture. It’s been described as a ‘tribal’ one by Andy McNab, and it makes it difficult for them to get help. All of the selection process is basically rooting out people that are mentally (and physically) unfit to join.
> 
> You know, one day somebody is gonna read this and think it’s genius. Well, until then, goodbye.
> 
> I love google docs. It’s just like ‘do you mean simplified chinese?’


	8. Chapter 8

Last Time: _So yeah, it all sucks. And that was before the pirate showed up._

* * *

 

*Four Days Later*

 

I sat outside a cafe, sipping at my tea. I didn’t have to report in to MI6 for another hour.  I wanted to use my time for all it’s worth. I at least deserved a of crap tea. I warmed my hands around the mug. Autumn was freezing in Germany.

 

I’d spent the past few days avoiding a pair of German men [go not outsourcing your assassins! Wheh!] who had wanted to assassinate Angela Merkel, the current German chancellor. I had some small cuts on the outer side of my hands, bruises, and cuts on my feet. Just in case you were wondering.

 

A man sat down across from me. I didn’t bother moving. He’d been polite enough to stalk me for the past two hours where I could see him. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and looking largely uncomfortable in they. A pair of glasses hide his eyes.

 

“I have a job offer, Miss Ubiquesta”, he said, all friendly. I sipped my tea, and raised my eyebrows. I’d watched the cafe people prepare the tea carefully (no poisson), and this man was not going to kill me in a crowded area (even if he was carrying, what normal people would call, an alarming number of weapons).

 

“Yes?”, I asked, equally politely.’Manners maketh man’, afterall.

 

“Cheese recommended you”, said Sunglasses.

 

“I think your sentence is incorrect. Cheese is an inanimate object. It can not recommend people”, I said, still blandly polite as though Sunglasses hadn’t just dropped a major Name. I probably should explain myself, but let’s just say that there are Reasons why MI6 recruited me in the first place. One of those reasons is that I might have hacked into their servers. Q was still pissy over that or so I’ve heard.

 

“So did Q”, Sunglasses continued blithely.

 

“Again, inanimate object means that it can not recomend me. Is a letter inanimate? Well, it’s more like a symbol”, I babbled. I went through a mental checklist of how many knives I had on me. Nine, three guns (they jam, okay?), two sets of lock picks, rope, and a large number of ballpoint pens. I like to be prepared.

 

“So I guess MI6 is treating you fairly then?”, Sunglasses asked. “Keeping everybody safe?”

 

Departments in MI6 run as separately as they can. If one gets blown up for example (not hypothetical), than the others remain functional. So, Jones and Blunt had nothing to do with the hackers from the Quartermaster branch. Technically, I was working off-book so no, Q nor this man should know anything about me working for MI6. Unfortunately, this is my life so anything that can go wrong does.

 

I continued sipping at my tea, waiting for him to get to his point.

 

“Shield could use somebody like you”, Sunglasses said.

 

“Hmmm, from what the news has been saying, it seems like Shield is Hydra. Kinda sucks doesn’t it?”, I said sweetly. “Being all evil and everything. I bet you had to rewrite your code and stuff. ‘Defender of the world but secretly evil’.”

 

“Cheese is dead”, Sunglasses said. I stared. Cheese was Known, okay. He had legends upon legends in the Spy World. You learned that you did not fuck with five people: Cheese, Yassen Gregorovich (aka the Russian Bastard), Black Widow, the Winter Soldier, and Q.

 

They’re the best of the best. The best actors, the best spies, the best  . . .well, everything. Good little spies are told to be good or those five will come after you. You just do not fuck with them or theirs, because they will kill you in cold, bloody, nasty ways if you deserve it (or don’t).

 

“Are you sure?”, I asked in a low voice. This was no longer a ‘let’s all kill Felix’ thing, but a ‘code red’ thing.

 

“Yes”, Sunglasses said. I stared at him. He wasn’t lying.

 

“I can’t help you”, I said calmly, shaking off my fear and curiosity. Anything that could take down Cheese . . .(and yeah everybody dies but still). “Currently employed.”

 

“I have a very good legal service and benefits. We have an excellent 401(k) plan since a few of our employees were unexpectedly fired upon.” Sunglasses has a sense of humor.

 

“And you want me to what, takeover Cheese’s job?”, I asked coldly.

 

“Yes”, Sunglasses said curtly. “Felix, I’m offering you a way out. Only you would be employed by Shield, not Rider or your friend.”

 

I weighed my options carefully. If I joined Shield and did what exactly I have no clue, I would be burned by every British operation. It would pit English spies against American, because the English really really want Yassen right now. He’s on the top of their hit list, and I had no doubts that the Americans wanted him as well.

 

“Why me?”, I asked. “No qualifications here. Technically I don’t exist.”

 

“I’d want you to handle the Avengers.” Ah, there’s the bullet. The Avengers are a time bomb. Every single government agency has a pool on when they will blow up. I didn’t know that Cheese had been managing them. I had been off the radar for two years, and then stuck in places with no internet.

 

“And my Russian friend?”, I asked gently but in such a way that I conveyed how easily I could kill this man.

 

“Both him, Rider, and the kid would be out of it. They’d be under Shield protection with no debts.”

 

“Except that I would owe you.”

 

“Yes, but I’m not Blunt. You would handle the Avengers and that would be it.” And that right there was the kicker. Fury, Sunglasses could only be Fury (he wouldn’t trust the Avengers to anybody else but himself) was known for coming for his people. Fury was known for giving second chances, and keeping his promises. (Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov haven’t killed him yet at least.)

 

“I’ll think it over”, I said calmly but firmly. I’d need to ask Yassen. He passed me a card with a single number on it.

 

“They will come for you”, he said factually. “And you will eventually die from their missions.”

 

I nodded. “Thank you for your time.” For the moment it was better the devil you know was my better option.

 

Twelve hours later, I was back at Brecon Beacons starring the Sergeant down.

 

“You are going to medial”, he said firmly.

 

“Got checked out by MI6”, I said, equally firm. I checked my watch pointedly.  
  


“Snake or medical”, he tried. I grinned cheerfully at him.

 

“Uh no.” Sergeant smiled back at me. He rang for the K-Unit to report to his office through the sound speakers. I sat there scowling for five minutes.

 

“Hey, what’s up -oh, you’re back”, Eagle said, skidding to a verbal halt. The others almost slide into him. I worry about the future of England and freedom at times.

 

“Yup”, I said, popping the word.

 

“ _Medica_ l”, Sergeant ordered. Does he even have a name? Sorry, I’d been on a four hour flight to Cardiff (connecting I might add) so yeah, slightly out of it. Most of my focus was still on Nick Fury.

  


“We'll take it from here”, Cub said firmly. Okay, I looked like two steps from hell.

 

“I'm fine”, I said equally firm.

 

“And I become immediately suspicious”, Snake said, forcing me out of the cabin, and toward the K-Unit's cabin.

 

“So, how’ve you been?” Eagle does one hell of a teenage girl impression. I sat down on my bed. Snake tugged on the bandages on my hands. I didn’t bother stopping him. My new moral was to choose my battles more carefully (I can’t blame Italy entirely on MI6- #Don’t Try to Be Captain America).

 

“Well, you know, I went to a bar and just had to pick a fight with some guy over a thing, you know?”, I asked, batting my eyelashes at them. Slaphappy and without caffeine. There had been a child on that flight who’d kicked my seat and screamed for four hours, and no, their voice had not diminished in the slightest.

 

“Some girl flirting at ya?”, Eagle asked.

 

“Yeah, but she had a ring on her finger.”

 

“You use disinfectant on these?”, Snake asked as he checked my stitches.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll leave ‘em in then. Other injuries?”

 

“Feet and arms.” I rolled up my sleeves, and kicked off my boots. I almost started humming some country tune. “I had to pull a Die Hard.”

 

“Was it the Russians?”, Cub asked.

 

“What? No, it was  . . .classified.”

 

“You totally got taken out by a vending machine”, Wolf muttered, but he kept staring at my bruises.

 

“I just wanted those Ranch Doritos.” I wore my best poker face. These men may hate me, but I was theirs to hate. So yeah, after Snake was reassured that I was not going to die, they would go back to their hate, but until then.

 

“You can’t tell us?”, Wolf asked. He tried flashing that smile at me, and yeah uh no.

 

“Classified”, I said, not sounding sorry. I won’t apologize. My job is to protect them, even if they hate me, and are trying to manipulate me for information.

 

“You should be fine”, Snake said, tightening the bandages in my feet. “Try to get some ice for your arms to reduce swelling.” I nodded. I still had KP after all.

 

“We ship out in three days.” Wolf glared at me, saying ‘well you better damn be ready by then’.

 

“Got it”, I checked my watch. I had about four hours to sleep before the mock-up tests, because yeah, it was Friday, and we were all still sticking to that original goddamn schedule from hell.

 

Breakfast

Foreign Affairs Mockup

Medical Mockup

Mission Mockup

  
And then, one blissful day off. Monday, we all ship out for the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I moved up the timeline faster than planned. And I am working on learning how to write longer chapters.
> 
> I like breaking the fourth wall if you can’t tell. Mostly because I give the characters 95% of the power to write the story. Blame Deadpool and Ash Cassidy. 
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, Felix is a huge fan of Kingsman. James Bond (more secretly than in fiction) may or may not as a real person in this and she loves that it mocks spies like him. The British Army does have a Quartermaster corps. I’m not entirely sure if MI6 has one (being all secret and everything) but it is likely. If you haven’t picked it up, Felix is a world class troll, operating on Coulson’s level.
> 
> Sorry I write all my fanfictions with the intent of making fun of stuff in the cannons, but in a serious fashion.
> 
> I started this as a ‘Coulson’s death isn’t Nick Fury’s fault’ thing way back before Agents of Shield happened. I believe in Nick Fury and Yassen Gregorovich.
> 
> I did the research on that flight, just FYI. Blame google maps if I’m wrong.


	9. Paris

 

Last Time:   _I had about four hours to sleep before the mock-up tests, because yeah, it was Friday, and we were all still sticking to that original goddamn schedule from hell._

_Breakfast_

_Foreign Affairs Mockup_

_Medical Mockup_

_Mission Mockup_

_And then, one blissful day off. Monday, we all ship out for the mission._

 

* * *

 

I’ll say that the mockups went well. The Foreign Affairs was easy. And I was a doctor, okay, and Scorpia agents get injured a lot, so nothing new. The K-Unit’s fake mission was to work with other units and rescue the Sergeant from the other half of the camp. It went fine. Not that y’all would worry about my exams or well, you really shouldn’t.

 

So, we all shipped out Monday. Our orders were to escort this British diplomat to France. We were supposed to be hidden. It was all very Mission Impossible even though the diplomat knew that we were there.

 

The sniper fired their first shot past Snake, and hit a car gas tank. He flew sideways. I pulled him up and out of the open. Wolf and Eagle took the lead. Rider stayed in the back, shifting through the crowd. They all knew their jobs. Civilians also did their job perfectly: panicking. The diplomat’s guards closed ranks.

 

“Fifth floor, west side of the bank”, I said, calmly, keeping my voice just loud enough that the others could hear me on the comms. Snake was fine, his hands were bruised, but otherwise, he was fine. “He’s fine”, I assured the crowd that had been gathering. It was a parade to welcome the diplomat (can’t tell you his name, missions are always classified) to Paris.

 

“Eagle and Cub”, Wolf murmured softly. “Get him. Leopard stay with Snake and move up.” Snake and I moved up. Snake was trying to mask his pain.

 

I could hear Eagle and Cub take out the sniper. The hardest part about guarding another soldier is doing it without stepping in. Divided loyalties and all the cliches can be inserted here.

 

The diplomat’s protective service had taken over. They got him under cover. Local police were weaving through the crowd, trying to keep people calm.

 

Another shot rang out. Rider and Eagle slipped right back into the crowd. It hit right behind my right heel. ‘Watch your step’. I did not grab Rider, and cover him. Rider is important in the spy world, but not really for himself. Agencies want him because of his dad, Yassen, his abilities or because he’s a threat. You run with the intel you got, and you wait, prepare for when it’s wrong. You sure as hell never give away what you’re protecting. Not that it mattered, because I was twenty yards out from Rider, and closing, but I couldn’t really do anything. I fucked up.

 

I slide through the crowd. “Left building, 8th floor, the apartment building”, I reported calmly. We couldn’t get somebody up on the roof for regulations. The government hadn’t wanted trigger happy SAS men on top of the building.

 

“Got him”, Eagle said, taking off. He told the police. We were too far away.

 

Another shot rang out. It breezed past my left shoulder, taking out an inch of my skin. It was four inches away from the Scorpia on my shoulder blade, effectively tagging me. Fuck. Either they were after me or Rider, but this whole thing was a set up for one of us.

 

“Wolf”, I forced myself to not panic. “They’re after Cub.”

 

“What? No, they’re-” Another shot hit right above Cub’s head. Wolf stopped arguing. I guess they were going for a two for one deal. I caught up to Rider, and pushed him down, covering his back. This was no time to pretend not to care. They’d let me know that they knew that I was semi-ex-Scorpia.

 

“We need a safe house. Now.” I kept my tone calm.

 

“I don’t”, Wolf started but got caught off. Another explosion went off. Both of us hit the ground. I covered Rider. The explosion had collapsed a building behind us. Debris was buried in my back, but we were largely unharmed. Everything was dust and chaos and panic. People were running.

 

I grabbed Rider, and forced him to move. We darted into a side alley and under some cover. Comms were down. I activated my tracker. Rider followed suit, but it didn’t matter. Five Scorpions (ha) had followed us. This was a retrieval mission. I kept Rider behind me, up against the wall.

 

“Felix”, the lead man said warmly, parading forward. I didn’t draw my gun or move my stance. Both actions would give me away.

 

I didn’t respond. It was Rodriguez. The man who had taught me to decapitate people with swords and drilled me on bombs.

 

“Give them up, and we’ll let you walk”, he continued. I almost laughed. Bullshit. Scorpia wouldn’t let any of us go. “Surrender!”, he ordered. “And Scorpia will only kill you.” Rider tensed. Well, I’ll worry over his feelings if we survive.

 

“Ah, you’re adorable”, I said, finally. “Now, remember, you hold the trigger and press. Unless you’re gonna come at me one at a time, like they do in them movies”, I said with my best Southern United States accent.

 

“Grab them”, Rodriguez ordered. Ah, non-lethal capture, so much harder than just shooting a person. I shoot two of them in the head before they’d even raised their arms. Scorpia was a little understaffed since Yassen blew up Italy. It takes time to master instinctive shooting.

 

Those two toppled over, knocking the other three off balance. Rodrigue threw himself at me, slamming back into the wall. Rider slide out of the wall so I whacked my head against the wall. Thanks, pal. I dropped to my knees and stabbed(left handily-gun was in my right) him in the gut, stood back up as he went down, and slit his throat. One of the goons whipped out a gun, and pulled it on Rider.

 

I tried to grab Rider, but the goon fired as I tried to pull Rider out of the way (reversing the knife). The bullet hit on his left side, mid torso. I shot the goon in the head, and threw the knife in the throat of the final goon. Rider was on the ground bleeding.

 

I put pressure on his stomach. He whimpered. I didn’t blame him. Bullets are a bitch. Yassen’s gonna kill me. Goddamnit, I had to be faster. The comms came back online.

 

“Leopard! Where are you?!”, Wolf yelled, deafening me.

 

“R-Cub’s down”, I stuttered. I took off my jacket, and tied it around his chest. I grabbed some bandages from my pockets. and strapped the jacket tighter. I hauled him back on his feet. “Move it”, I said firmly, throwing his arm around my shoulders and barely keeping him up. I nicked one of the goon’s hats and and jackets, jammed it on Rider’s head and wrapped the jacket around him.

 

I hauled him to the safe house. It took us thirty minutes. The safe house was this shitty apartment. The rest of the K-Unit was already there. I went in first, gun drawn. I didn’t believe that the comms were entirely secure(nothing’s secure).

 

But no, they were all there. I almost breathed a sigh of relief. I hauled Rider inside.

 

“Is there a table?”, I asked. They all looked freaked out by the sight of us covered in blood.

 

“How bad is is?”, Snake practically yelled. We got him up on the wood table in the main room. It was one of those apartments with only two rooms (main and bathroom). I looked around. Snake’s hands were covered in bandages. I sighed heavily, and started cutting off Rider’s shirt, and my quick compression bandage.

 

“Leopard?”, Wolf asked me.

 

“Do we have an actual first aid kit?”, I asked. They shook their heads. “Well, I have some stuff. I’m gonna strap you down”, I told Rider. I pulled out a kit from my backpack and grabbed a fifteen foot strand of paracord. I strapped him down tight, and gave him a piece of cloth to bit down on. “Try to pass out”, I instructed him.

 

“Leopard?”, Wolf asked again as I cleaned my hands off with alcohol.

 

“Used to be a doctor”, I said calmly. “And Snake’s hands aren’t gonna cut it right now.” I poured alcohol on Rider’s wound.  He screamed. I sterilized the site.I forced myself to ignore him. “How long do we have?”

 

“Thirty minutes”, Wolf finally said. I opened up the kit and started to work. I opened up a sterile pack, and dug into Rider for the bullet. He had a pulmonary laceration, type one (long cut on the lung, about 4 centimeters across).

 

“What happens after thirty minutes?”, I asked, still cool. I didn’t let my worry show.

 

“We start tracking the bastards down”, Eagle growled.

 

“They’re dead”, I said softly. I washed out the wound again and starting in on the lung. “They were after either Cub or me. All diversion. I’ll be having a word with your intel when we get back.”

 

Wolf gestured at Rider to ask me if he would live. I shrugged. I didn’t know. I didn’t have the equipment. “He needs to be in a hospital within the next six hours.” Rider shivered at that.

 

“Can’t you knock him out?”, Eagle asked, shakily. Ridder was whimpering and looking terrified.

 

“Can’t. I don’t have a lot of meds on me and I’ll give him something when I’m done. We might need him mobile, and the pain’s gonna cut through right now, no matter what I do.” Having a high pain tolerance sucks. After another moment of digging, Rider passed out. Good.

 

“How do you know all this?”, Wolf asked.

 

“She’s bloody MI6”, Snake growled, scottish accent coming on strong.

 

“Not by choice”, I argued.

 

“And you were a doctor?”, Wolf asked.

 

“We do not have time for this. You need to figure out a way to get him back to Brecon Beacons, now!”, I ordered.

 

“Under what authority?’, Eagle asked.

 

“The authority of him dying if you don’t”, I snarled, finally losing it.

 

“Fine.” Wolf walked away to call Base, and report back to them.

 

“The diplomat?”, I asked Snake. I kept working on Rider’s lung. He had  a pneumothorax. “Eagle, scrub your hands.” He did so. “I’m gonna need to put in a chest tube. Try to keep the blood from making the site slippery.”

 

“The diplomat’s gonna be fine”, Snake said finally.

 

I did the best I could. Thoracic surgery is difficult in the best of times. Ironically, it is a does not have a high risk of complications if done with the proper equipment. Eagle held the flaps of skin open; he looked like he was going to pass out. I inserted a chest tube (and created a sterile drainage system), and applied the Asherman seal.

 

“The Sergeant says he’ll have a plane here in one hour. He said the journey will take about two hours.”

 

“He may live then”, I said, slightly calmer. I finished wrapped up Rider’s chest. I checked his pulse. It was calming down slowly. I place a coat over him. I couldn’t give him anything for the pain until I could ask him how bad it was.

 

“You being a doctor is not in your file”, Snake said. I cleaned my hands off in the sink.

 

“Let me see your hands.” Snake showed them to me. They were lightly cut up, not even burned. I breathed a sigh of relief. I gently cleaned out the cuts, and put refresh bandages on his hands.

 

“Classified information or are you a spy?”, Snake asked. I didn’t bother answering. I re-packed up the medkit meticulously.

 

“Hold off the interrogation until we get back, alright.” I grabbed a chair, and sat down by Rider’s side.

 

“You care about us”, Snake deduced. I sighed at him. “After all the hazing? No, you care about Cub and it has something to do with your Russian friend.”

 

“Ah, Snake-y poo, I care about you. I love you. No, really there’s a picture in my footlocker and everything.” He glared at me. Eagle and Wolf just stared. I shrugged it off. “Do we have anything to make a stretcher out of?”

 

“No”, Wolf said.

 

“Okay, Wolf, you get to carry Cub then.” I gagged the kid. He was gonna wake up screaming. “Watch his tube, and be careful.” Wolf picked him up. “ORY airport?”

 

“Yes”, Wolf said. “He told me that there would be a plane in hanger 12, and to sneak in.” We stole a van outfront. Rider got laid down in the back, on the floor. Snake and I kept him still. Eagle drove, and Wolf directed.

 

We made it there ahead of schedule, but the plane was already there. Apparently they can fly faster than advertised on google flights or something. There was a doctor standing by. We got Rider on the plane, and took off. I stayed next to him. He kept looking at me with frightened eyes.

 

“His condition?”, the doc asked. Surprisingly, it was Dr. Wilson.

 

“More or less stable. You’ll need to operate quickly.”

 

“Chest tube?”

 

“Yes, pulmonary laceration and pneumothorax. I’m worried that oxygen got into his bloodstream. No pain meds, shocky.”

 

“Alright”, the doc said. My hands started to shake slightly. Hurriedly I wiped my hands on my pants. All of the K-Unit were slumped around Rider. The doc set up several units of blood and saline. He also put an oxygen over Rider’s face. The kid looked fragile.

 

We landed on the camp’s airstrip. I trudged after my team, following them to Medical. My automatic left legged limp came back. My hands were still still shaking. Psychosomatic symptoms. Label me John Watson and call it a day. The pain in my back didn’t help(some of that debris from the car had been metal).

 

So we all ended up waiting outside the OR, hoping Rider didn’t die. Good times.

 

Eventually, they wheeled him out, saying words like ‘critical condition’, ‘24 hours’, and ‘to be watched carefully’. Wilson pulled me away for a moment.

 

“You did good”, he said, gently touching my shoulder. I nodded. C’mon kid, do you need to give me a heart attack? If it was easy, everybody would guard Rider, I guess. “You did everything right.” I nodded again. He knows that it won’t make me feel less guilty if Rider dies, but it’s still what you say. Just another one of those socially acceptable human expressions.

 

I sat down in the corner of Rider’s room. I didn’t bother moving for the next five hours, except for the obvious. The K-Unit took turns being ‘on watch’. I didn’t even bother getting coffee. I just replayed him screaming on my table, and poof, instant redbull-coffee mixer.

 

Rider woke up after five hours. I hadn’t bothered to call Yassen. He would just worry. The doctors seemed a lot more hopefully though. He didn’t do much, just breathed, and tapped some morse code on Wolf’s arm (they had him on a ventilator to mechanically pump his lungs). He glared at me a lot.

 

It wasn’t the worst situation in all honesty. He didn’t know the things I’d done while in Italy or who my friend was. Hell, he probably figured that I was another run-of-the-mill MI6 agent.

 

I stood up and stretched, planning to go call my favorite assassin. Snake stared at me. The docs here had redone his bandages (for a third time), but he was otherwise uninjured. Rider was the only one injured.

 

“Leopard, your chair is . . .”, he said. I turned around. Ah, the chair was lightly (seriously it was barely a pint) covered in blood.

 

“Estoy bien”, I said, half joking. They stared. “I’m fine. Y’all never believe me in English so . . .”

 

“Doctor?”, Wolf called into the hall. Wilson came into the room. “Leopard is injured. Eagle, take over watch?” Eagle nodded. Wolf started impressing into my space so I backed out into the hall.

 

“Hey, I’m fine, really.” My shoulder gave a god-awful twinge. “Tis but a mere flesh wound, kind sir.”

 

“Misquoting Monty Python will not get you out of this. Her chair back is covered in blood”, he said to Wilson. I made a half step backwards to Rider. Wolf nudged me back into the hall. “Now, you wouldn’t want to freak out Cub by throwing a hissy fit, right? It might get his blood pressure up.”

 

“But what if-”, I started, glaring at him.

 

“Eagle and Snake, who is a fully trained medic, are right there. If you are as fine as you say you are then we’ll be right back, won’t we?”

 

Busted.

 

I followed them into a spare room.

 

“Injuries?”, Wilson asked. I opened my mouth but he cut me off. “The truth, please; it’s been a long day, Leopard.”

 

“My back”, I admitted.

 

“Shirt”, Wilson said calmly, pulling out a tray full of Things. I stared at Wolf, but he didn’t make any motion to turn around or leave.

 

“You were on mission. My responsibility to report injuries of my team members.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Leopard”, Wolf ordered. I gritted my teeth, but pulled my shirt off. There were tiny bits of asphalt, glass, and metal embedded in my spaine. The GSW (gunshot wound) was bleeding sluggishly. The more important thing was that Wolf part of the Scorpia burn through my bra (ha the SAS still doesn’t really know about women’s underwear so I kept my stuff).

 

Wolf stared. I shifted uncomfortably. “Who was after Cub?”, he asked, deadly serious.

 

“Scorpia.” I couldn’t look at him.

 

“And they attacked you?”, he continued. Wilson motioned at me, and I reluctantly took off my bra. I wasn’t body conscious or anything, but this was Wolf.

 

“They burn the Scorpia into the backs of traitors, Wolf”, I said calmly. I can do this.

 

“So you were . . .what? . . .working for them this whole time?” Wilson didn’t bother to stop his work as Wolf talked. Wilson already had my medical file, and he seemed like a bright enough guy.

 

“MI6 sent me undercover for two years with Scorpia. They found me out.” I didn’t say anything about those two months. If I had my way, I would never say anything about those two months. “I got sent here to recover.”

 

“It’s suspicious how Cub hasn’t been called away by MI6 for the past three months”, Wolf stated. The military: not 100% full of idiots. “Your friend, he’s ex-Scorpia too?” I didn’t say anything. “Of course he is”, Wolf muttered.

 

“I need to you to take your bra off and lay down on the table”, Wilson said. He’d been sterilizing his equipment. Wolf averted his eyes while I did this. I didn’t care. Share a barrack with twenty guys and women with the instructions to sleep naked. Scorpia models a lot of their things after the Royal Marines. Woo to you if you don’t know how to clean.

 

“Don’t tell him”, I said quietly. “He’ll end up dead because of MI6.” Wilson gave me a shot of pain killers, and started stitching me up. I didn’t bother paying attention. Wolf wouldn’t let me die until he had all his answers.

 

“And you won’t?”, Wilson asked, tossing his two cents in. I didn’t answer. There was no need to state the obvious.

 

“I won’t tell him. You have two days”, Wolf said at last. “What happened when the comms went down, Leopard?”

 

I licked my lips. “I grabbed Cub, and got us in an alley, undercover. Scorpia agents came after us. They’re dead. Rider got shot.”

 

“How did Cub get shot?”

 

“I wasn’t fast enough”, I said simply. And that’s how it comes down. Sometimes you’re fast, sometimes you’re not.

 

“Well, that’s fine then”, he said sarcastically. I didn’t bother to flinch. I didn’t to.

 

“Wolf, out!”, Wilson barked. Wolf stared at him. “I will not have you harrassing my patient.” Wolf left, stomping out.

 

“Well?”, I asked, thoroughly done. “Are you gonna start in?”

 

“No”, Wilson said calmly, continuing to sew me up. “It’s not my place. The Sergeant called down to say that he wanted to see you when I’m done.”

 

“Okay.” I calmed down slightly. Wilson finished up. He gave me a spare shirt. I threw on the old bra.

 

“Your leg?”, Wilson asked. “You were limping slightly. Could you roll up your pants?” I showed him that I was fine. “Psychosomatic?”

 

“Yes, sir.” He grimaced.

 

“Alright, I’m going to write that off as understandable for the moment. Tell me if it starts up.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He stared at me for a second.

 

“Alright then, come on.” He led me out of the room and back to my Unit. “She’s fine. Stitches on her back. Check for infection, and watch incase she starts limping.”

 

“I’m not a horse”, I muttered.

 

“I know”, Wilson said cooly. “It’s my job to report your injuries to your Unit.” He looked at me funny. I didn’t say anything. Scorpia had a policy of ‘you better be  dying before showing injury’. Wilson left, leaving me with my Unit.

 

“So, you were trained by Scorpia, while undercover for MI6?”, Eagle asked. Obviously, Wolf had explained.

 

“Classified”, I said shortly.

 

Wolf growled at me and slammed me into a wall. I didn’t break eye contact with him. “GIVE ME A FUCKING STRAIGHT ANSWER!”

 

“I can’t”, I snarled back. “And I wouldn’t if I could.”

 

“Try”, Eagle said, leaning forward in his chair.

 

“I need to ask the Sergeant.” I left, shutting the door behind me. I got their friend, their follow comrade, shot.

 

I walked across the compound, and stood for a second outside the Sergeant’s office. I couldn’t keep a man waiting if he didn’t know that he was waiting so yeah I planned to wait to call Yassen.

 

Except apparently, Yassen took a flight to the headquarters of a British fighting force. You know for fun. He was standing in the Sergeant’s office, dangling a knife and smiling. Jamie was sitting in a chair.

 

Fuck.

 

*To be continued*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The parentheses happen, because Felix likes being very precise in everything. She is such a grammar geek (five points for alliteration) as well. I’m not so be nice.
> 
> Well, we reached the tipping point. I do plan for the K-Unit to meet the Avengers, eventually. I initially wrote the mission part in the middle of a forest, but I wanted this to be more urban situated. Also, the SAS are known for protection detail and terrorist handling.
> 
> Okay the sniper thing is inaccurate but hush. The medical stuff was somewhat bullshited. If there’s a doctor out there, feel free to offer better ways to half kill Rider. In all honesty if a thoracic surgery was required, Alex would’ve most likely died.
> 
> France has issues today. They worry over immigration and their population is the top third country that worries about poverty. Sources: NPA and http://www.understandfrance.org/French/Issues.html A lot of their issues come from the mentality that they can’t do much to help global problems, and they do not know how to change. There is a heavy middle eastern immigration there, and that has been causing public school problems (like violence problems). It is one of the countries with the most(if not the most) Muslim population and there have been a lot of Islamophobia.#I do try to do my research
> 
> I wrote a lot of this back (waaaay back) before Cap2, like immediately after the Avengers. So, I refuse to say anymore, because it will spoil it for you. Like nada on whether or not Fury was lying about Coulson. This chapter was a lot shorter when I wrote it (because I kinda time jumped all over the place in my head), but I didn’t want to cut off my past self in mid-stream.
> 
> Please comment. Okay? I write more and I like actually getting feedback and talking about stuff. It keeps me from being bored.
> 
> Whoever entered ‘debre’ as a word on google docs needs to be shot along with whoever thought ‘debris’ should be how that word is written. WTF? Also, this is literally the longest chapter I’ve ever written. You’re welcome. Expect more mistakes, because it’s harder to edit when it’s over ten pages.
> 
> Say what you will, but the Royal Marines do have to sleep naked during Foundations (British Basic). The Royal Marines do not allow women. People are working to change that. Women have passed the Australian SAS recruitment and are in it. The British government is investigating if the military is being sexist or being accurate. Women can join Spec Ops but like only in the band or as a homeside cook at the present moment.  
> http://www.army-technology.com/features/featurewomen-to-be-given-go-ahead-for-british-army-combat-roles-4442799/  
> http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/486133.stm  
> http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2002/jun/01/gender.military  
> http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/defence/sas-and-commandos-out-of-reach-for-elite-women-soldiers/story-e6frg8yo-1226252850700


	10. Yassen has a diary

Last Time: _I walked across the compound, and stood for a second outside the Sergeant’s office. I couldn’t keep a man waiting if he didn’t know that he was waiting so yeah I planned to wait to call Yassen._

_Except apparently, Yassen took a flight to the headquarters of a British fighting force. You know for fun. He was standing in the Sergeant’s office, dangling a knife and smiling. Jamie was sitting in a chair._

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

I entered the building and stood at attention.

 

“Wolf reported earlier”, the Sergeant said.

 

“Yes, sir”, I said.

 

“And now you’ve made me harbor an international criminal”, he continued, not impressed.

 

“Sorry, sir.” I didn’t bother to glare at Yassen. I was tired. I was reverting back to Scorpia shit. He looked at me.

 

“Was it your fault?”, he asked point blank.

 

“No, sir. Scorpia would have come for Cub if I had not been there, and he would be dead, sir.” I paused for a moment. “How much am I allowed to tell the K-Unit?”

 

“As much as you want. I can’t report what I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Right, we will continue this discussion later. Your friend is here under probation.” Yassen raised his eyebrows, slightly sarcastic. Dismissed.” Yassen, Jamie, and I walked out.

 

“Plan?”, Yassen asked me.

 

“Shield offered me a job. I run things for a team, and you, Jamie, and the pipsqueak stay out of it.”

 

“You sure?”, he asked, nudging my shoulder.

 

“Gets you both out of England. Gets pipsqueak out of going on missions.”

 

“Give you a chance to track down Jamie’s parents.” Jamie is the son of some US government official (I try so hard to not give away classified information, thank you very much), and his parents had gone into hiding after Scorpia tried to blackmail them. Yassen had been ordered to kill him when the parents refused to pay the bribe.

 

“Yeah. And what do you plan to do about Cub?”, I asked. “Walk in there and announce that you’re still alive?” Yassen had faked his death and recovered in a Scorpian hospital for over a month. He wasn’t around to prevent Rider from getting shot and Scorpia still owned him.

 

“Yes”, he said simply.

 

“Right. You gonna yell at me any time soon?”, I asked suddenly, spinning around and facing him.

 

“No. You did the best you could. He’s still alive”, Ice said.

 

“Right.”

 

Yassen led the way to Medical.

 

“Well, this is gonna end badly”, I muttered. Jamie made grabby hands at me. I picked up Jamie and held him. God I love that kid(not like that, perverts). He once rigged the oven to blow up in Yassen’s face, covering him in play-do. He’s a genius six-year old who know when to take pictures. “So badly. I have lost all faith in your creepy, Russian ways, Ice.”

 

“I could always kill you to prove that I still have what it takes. Oh wait, that wouldn’t prove anything at all, and there would be paperwork”, he snarked at me. Snarkiness is a defense mechanism when it comes to dealing with me or so I’ve been told.

 

“Ah, see you threatening me is a sign of affection. I know this. You can not deny our love, Ice”, I sing-songed.

 

Torture becomes boring after awhile. You’re stuck in this tiny cell with a badass, and eventually snarkfests happen. It’s not my fault. Blame Scorpia (I should make a T-shirt).

 

“ ‘Operation this will most likely end badly is a go’ ”, he said, entering Medical.

 

“Well, somebody’s been catching up on Stargate Atlantis.” He glared at me.

 

“YOU’RE DEAD!”, Rider tried to yell, but it came more out as “hmmm hmmm hm!” I did not grin (only a little).

 

“Your baking buddy?”, Eagle asked.

 

“He’s a killer with the cake batter”, I trolled Rider. “His sprinkles should be a international felony.”

 

Wolf studied me closely. “You know that one day he won’t be on a ventilator, right?”

 

“Oh, I’m counting on it”, I muttered, smiling at Rider.

 

“Explain”, Snake ordered.

 

“Yassen used to work for Scorpia with Cub’s dad, who was really not Scorpia. There may have been slight violence involved.” Rider tried to rip out the ventilator. Snake caught him. “Uh a lot of violence.”

 

“And then I killed his uncle. Met Rider, did not kill him on multiple occasions. Met Leopard, and quit Scorpia.” Yassen opened up a bag of skittles and smiled. One day, I will regret teaching him how to troll people. Today is not that day.

 

“And got tortured”, Wolf added. “The water, RTI, and the doctors.”

 

“Yes”, I said curtly. “Well, I was freelancing for MI6 at the time so I can attest that Scorpia really really does not like you guys.”

 

“And the anklebiter?”, Eagle asked.

 

“Foster Parent”, I said, pointing at Yassen. “That’s actually classified by not the British government so I can’t tell y’all that.”

 

“So what’s your plan?”, Wolf asked.

 

“An American government agency offered me a job and protection from MI6 for Cub, Yassen, Jamie and I.” They all looked suitably shocked. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

 

“And you want to take it, because otherwise you’ll keep going on suicide missions to keep Cub from doing them?”, Wolf asked.

 

“Yeah. And they’ll start assigning him on dangerous SAS missions anyway.” Cub stared at me, and grabbed at Snake, signalling him to take out the ventilator.

 

“No, you need that t--fine”, Snake growled. He pulled out the tube.

 

“You’ve been-” He coughed. “You’re the reason why they haven’t-?” Snake helped him gulp down some water and ice cubes.

 

“Yeah. I figured you were safer with the SAS. At least you would have somebody in the field looking out for you.”

 

“But they knew that it was Scorpia, didn’t they?”, Rider asked me. “That’s why you’re pissed. That’s why he’s here.”

 

And yes, that would make slightly more sense if Yassen showed up here incase Scorpia came after Rider in an SAS base. That’s not why Yassen is here though. Yassen is here because he is a Class ‘A’ Motherhen.

 

“Yeah. Too much of a coincidence. I’m sorry”, I said, looking at all of them. “This was my problem, and I didn’t think that I would drag any of you into it.”

 

“You were trying to protect us?”, Wolf asked. I nodded. “Misguided there.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”, Rider said at last. The rest of the K-Unit nodded. Yassen sat down in a chair next to me. He put an arm around me.

 

“Come here”, Yassen said, leaning me into him. “Get some sleep.” Snake took Jamie. I glared at him, but it was Snake, and Yassen would kill him if anything happened. I fell asleep with that still in my head.

 

* * *

 

** *3rd POV* **

 

“Why?”, Alex asked Yassen.

 

“Why what?”, he stretched and yawned, keeping his arm more firmly around Felix.“Why did I kill Rider? Why didn’t I kill Rider? Why didn’t I kill you? Why Scorpia?”

 

“Yes”, Alex said, staring at Yassen. Yassen reached under his shirt. All the SAS members tensed but he merely grinned and withdrew a flash drive. He pulled it off his neck and tossed it to Rider.

 

“All my secrets. Everything that’s happened to me. Everything with your dad. I’ve been informed by Leopard that it’s incomplete, but it’s all I have to offer for an answer. It’s what I’ve been working on for the past four months.”

 

“Why Leopard?”, Snake asked, getting to the important question. After all, Yassen is supposed to be a cold-hearted assassin who owes nobody loyalty.

 

“I owe her. I owe her everything and she thinks owes me. She wanted to pay it off, and I wanted to pay off my debt to Cub’s father.”

 

“How do you owe Leopard? She’s kinda weak”, Eagle joked. Seriously, that was a joke. He knew Leopard. She’d stolen coffee from the mess before(and given it to him when he’s not allowed coffee under any circumstances), took down Wolf on multiple occasions, and asked the randomest questions during lectures. She’d dealt with them giving her shit in quiet, small ways like switching all their drinks to decaf for a day. That all kinda makes her a badass in his book.

 

“It’s her story more than mine”, the Russian answered carefully.

 

“Diplomat answer”, Wolf grumbled.

 

“Yes”, Yassen said shortly, and that ended the conversation. Stony silence rained down.

 

“I will not forgive you”, Alex said at last.

 

“I know”, Yassen said softly. “I do not expect you to.”

 

And that was that, at least for now. It had to be.

 

* * *

 

** *Felix’s POV* **

I woke hastily, spinning off Yassen’s shoulders. Everybody in the room stared at me. Yassen didn’t move.

 

“I’ll go call Shield.” I left the room quickly.

 

I could barely hear Wolf ask “Is she alright?”, but I didn’t bother waiting for the response.

 

I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Fury’s number. “I would like to discuss terms of employment with you.”

 

*To be continued*

 

 **Author** : right, so thoughts, ideas, anything! Rants about the military, rants about facts? Seriously guys, I am bored, and I stop writing when I’m bored. And I can make this cliffhanger worse. So please comments on anyway to make Felix more interesting, because she’s boring me. I’m used to growling werewolves and Ash Cassidy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forget to tell y’all why I do things. The reason why the SAS is not a gun-ho, screaming ball of rage to the K-Unit is they’ve been on active duty, they knew exactly what they’ll be up against. Felix would be binned instantly for insanity, lying, past injury, PTSD, and break military code a long time ago if this was reality. Blame her staying on MI6. I’m also not trying to say that the SAS is in anyway easy (I’ve done my twenty hour homework here- still not an expert but . . . the SAS are hardcore). It actually demonstrates how hard Scorpia and MI6 is, because she finds SAS regs easy (not that she obeys them 24/7).
> 
> According to Horowitz, John Rider was a paratrooper(well, it is what John Rider told Yassen). They run Spec Ops with SAS a lot. The British Parachute Regiment was invented by Winston Churchill after he saw how effective the German one was during WWII. They had shit equipment, limited numbers, and little time to train. They also effectively accomplished a lot of the shit done during D-Day, even though they lost heavy casualties. They’re the people that go into the UK SAS a lot. Only ⅓ make it through training and they compete a lot against the Royal Marines. At least, that’s my basic, sparknotes version.
> 
> Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkZCW-tlhkU (the most British documentary from the 80s)
> 
>  
> 
> I finished Russian Roulette. I kinda want to punch Horowitz. Seriously, what the hell, man? He lost a lot of respect from me with that last ⅓ of the book. Also, he clearly skipped the classes on research, over foreshadowing, and how not to have plot holes. The bastard. (*causally skips classes on descent characterization*)
> 
> Now (because this is a reward for people that bother to read these things), I’m not saying that I am going to resurrect John Rider. I’m just saying that he would’ve made a lovely addition to Hydra *stares innocently at camera* as frozen. Come on, you know he and Steve (and Steve’s friend) would be bffs. Besides we have to get all the spies in a bar and play a drinking game. I’m trying to create a universe where everybody lives, and nobody dies, because nobody likes being hunted down by the TARDIS.
> 
> The thing about her switching their drinks to decaf happened because I know that Felix tells nobody everything she does. She is Coulson 2.0, reporting for duty. I think that the K-Unit do respect her and trust her. She is biased, because she tends to feel like an outsider a lot.


	11. I Agree to Terms

Last Time: _I pulled out my cellphone and dialed Fury’s number. “I would like to discuss terms of employment with you.”_

 

* * *

It took two days. I made deals back and forth with Fury. He’d own my contract for three years, and I would handle and direct the Avengers. The Avengers were not part of the decision to employ me. Rider and Yassen continued to their bitter agreement to not murder each other while Rider was still sick. Rider was still in a lot of pain, and would not be able to travel for another week. The K-Unit was not very happy with all of us.

 

“So, you kill people?”, Snake asked Yassen over the mess hall table. “For money?”

 

Yassen paused with a bit of egg to his face. He sighed. I tensed. “I assume you get a paycheck?”

 

“Yes-but”

 

“And you don’t question who you’re killing do you?”

 

“But they’re bad guys”, Eagle said firmly. Yassen and I snorted.

 

“They believe that you are bad guys. The English have committed horrible acts. The Germans have committed horrible acts. It is all relative”,I explained carefully.

 

“So you condone Scorpia?”, Wolf asked me, sounding affronted.

 

“No, but the British Government doesn’t always do the right thing for the right reason”, Yassen added. “The age of exploration: where they cruelly conquered parts of the world. Germany, Italy, France, America, Russia, and Ukraine have all tried their hand at conquering other countries, other people, and a lot of people die. Hell, you’ve had concentration camps back in the Boer Wars.”

 

“That’s really simple-minded”, Eagle said. Yassen drank some coffee. I kicked his foot under the table.

 

“Oh, I’m not” I kicked him again. “saying that” I kicked him once more. He kicked back. “Scorpia has great reasons, but they get paid for their crimes, just like you do. And you also disrupt government as well” I resisted the urge to facepalm. You would think that Yassen would know when to keep his peace.

 

“Why are you still here again?”, Wolf grumbled.

 

“Scorpia may try to kill you”, I said.

 

“You mean Rider”, Snake said.

 

“No, they may come after you to blackmail him, me or Yassen.” I finished my breakfast.

 

“Great”, Wolf said. I left, not bothering to answer. He’d probably say something about how the SAS is trained to protect itself against stuff like Scorpia, but that’s a joke. The SAS is trained to do missions, not withstand a full assault on Brecon Beacons.

 

I visited Rider in medical. He was still knocked out. Pain management is a priority with people with his injuries. It hurts to breath so they either stop or have panic attacks. The doctors had to put him back on a ventilator to keep him from accidentally suffocating until his lung was properly inflating on its own.

 

I sat in a chair and started reading through the files that Fury had electronically sent me. Encryption was one of the first things I’d learned, even before Italy. Like I said, I might’ve been a hacker a couple years ago (classified information and all that). The files were more like the sparknotes of the Avengers, just very basic information. Fury didn’t trust me, yet. The only thing I knew was that this job would be the equivalent of babysitting duty.

 

Rider woke up and immediately tried to get off the bed. I gripped his hand.

 

“Hey, calm down”, I said, being careful to not restrain him. He kept fighting the tube and tapping it with his free hand. “Come on, you know you need that to breath”, I said firmly. He glared at me, and tugged at it. I glared back, but pushed the ‘call’ button to ask the doctor. Wilson came in. He’d stayed on-call for the past few days. He checked Rider over.

 

“I’m going to take take the tube out and conduct a spontaneous breathing trial. What will happen is I’ll take some of the tube out, and let you try breathing. If you can’t I’ll connect the tube. You may experience some discomfort, alright?” Rider passed the SBT well enough that he got away with those nostril things. Wilson left, leaving me alone with the teen.

 

“When are you kidnapping me?”, Rider asked.

 

“One, I’m not. If you want to stay here and die on mission for MI6, then go for it, buddy.Two, I’m waiting until you can protect yourself.”

 

“You were really trained by Scorpia?”

 

“Yes”, I said calmly. I hesitated for a second, but continued with, “doctors have to go through their training.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was here under a visa to go to Uni.”

 

“I’m weak, I could’ve handled MI6”, Rider muttered.

 

I resisted the urge to rub my face. I’d been up for over-well, a long time. Yassen and I were taking shifts, but I couldn’t sleep. He’d gone back to bed in my bed. Jamie was supposed to work on his maths. Scorpia had thrown all of us off.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you would not be able to handle Scorpia a second time.” He glared at me. “Cub, they’ve improved their training after having two agents be MI6.”

 

“How much more deadly could they be?”, he asked me.

 

“They- a lot”, I said, breaking off. I didn’t tell him that they constantly left you to sleep outside nude. I didn’t tell him about the knife fights, constant attacks, hospital 2 days shifts or all the classroom education where the chances of a person dying was very high.

 

My first mission, day one, was to kill somebody that I could use to fake my own death for them.They don’t make you fill out your body bag with neat ink and a quick pen. They make you put a body in it.

 

“Think mini-Yassens”, I said at last. “Each armed with an explosive skittles pack.”

 

“Will you teach me?”, he asked at last. I didn’t stare. Hell, I barely hesitated.

 

“Yes.”

 

*To be continued*

  
For the record, my brain around 2am is awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started reading A People’s History of the United States of America, and it talks a lot about how crimes are discussed in class. Crimes are often talked about, broken down, to the point where students go ‘oh, the Holocaust happened’, but we understand it and that makes it more okay now. So, some of this is a rant about it. APHUSA is a really good book if you need to review for exams.Some of this is a rant about how people don’t understand that they’re always somebody else's enemy for equally defensible reasons. I wrote Felix to discuss why war sucks and how it affects everybody. It would be remiss if I didn’t put some of that in here.
> 
> I like Yassen. He has loose morals. He reminds me of Malia from Teen Wolf when’s she’s like “oh no, if they come after us, I’m gonna leave you for dead”. It helps that I recently had a moral debate with my family on whether the world is straight black and white.
> 
> The medical stuff is sort of accurate. Pulmonary laceration is when a lung gets cut up (usually from blunt trauma to the ribs-ribs break and damage lung). It’s dangerous because oxygen can get into the blood as air bubbles and result in death. It is usually not life threatening. Less than 5% require the surgery that Alex needed (thoracotomy). He needed it because the bullet ricocheted around, widening the tear, and collapsing the lung. A thoracotomy means that they opened up his chest to access the lungs. Most tears do not require added work (possibly internal stitches), but they do need a drain. It is important to keep drains from being clogged. Some suffer from chronic pain. A lot of it varies drastically. It honestly depends on the bullet’s trajectory and kind.
> 
> Webpage on how GWSs are treated:https://writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com/2010/07/16/qa-how-are-multiple-gunshot-wounds-to-the-chest-treated/\  
> It gives detailed explanation on how different bullets would affect the injuries (especially since different bullets can be more volatile than others)  
> http://www.northeastcenter.com/weaning_from_a_ventilator.htm ventilator related stuff  
> http://www.modernmedicine.com/content/taking-your-patient-ventilator?page=full more specifics


	12. Pink is the Ultimate Weapon

Last Time: _“Will you teach me?”, he asked at last. I didn’t stare. Hell, I barely hesitated._

_“Yes.”_

 

* * *

 

*Six days later*

 

I guess you want me to say that’s it’s wrong to train kids to kill people. Hell, it is wrong. It’s fucked up. I know that alright, so don’t start getting cold feet around me.

 

It’s better than him dying because he doesn’t know shit. If I don’t teach him, he’ll just find some other crackhead who doesn’t know the difference haho and halo jumps. And yeah, Yassen’s gonna back me on this. ‘If somebody’s trying to kill you, you try to kill them right back’, and Scorpia means that you need to know your shit.

 

But, that would have to wait until Rider could breath and run at the same time.

 

“Are you sure about this?”, Eagle asked me. I stared at him. It was dark outside, and the face paint made only the whites of his eyes visible. We both were wearing a pair of night vision goggles, and black tactical clothing.

 

“Mission is a-go”, I said firmly. We both stared at the can of glitter.  
  


“Affirmative”, he said back. I moved across the compound, laying the wires down Eagle headed off in the other direction, bringing the noise-makers.

 

Thirty minutes later, we both snuck back into the K-Unit cabin after we had ditched the clothes in the lake, and wiped all the make-up off. I rigged the cabin. Eagle and I fell asleep quickly. Rider had left the hospital later. Yassen was staying in a spare cabin with Jamie.

 

I woke up two hours later to panic. Alarms blared all across the compound. Everybody lept out of bed and-

  
  


-and bombed with glitter. It shot out of the walls in pink bucket. Wolf stood there in his boxers, holding a rifle. We all swung around wildly. We all ran from the cabin in various states of clothes.

 

Snake was promptly taken out by a flash bomb of blue paint. He fell down, and rolled on the ground. Eagle and I were both pelted with nerf pellets. All of the SAS fumbled around on the parade ground, trying to rub the glitter and paint out of their eyes. All uniforms and weapons were out of commission.

 

The Sergeant quickly took command, ordering everyone into the mess.

 

“LEOPARD!”, he yelled over the crowd.

 

“Sir?”, I asked, stepping forward, still covered in an orange, brown combination.

 

“Explain yourself!”, he barked.

 

“I’m covered in glitter, sir.”

 

“Explain why you thought it necessary to cover soldiers in glitter!”

 

“I didn’t, sugartits. I have a brain.” He scowled at me. I raised my eyebrows. Never insult a soldier in front of his comrades.

 

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”, he yelled, getting up in my face.

 

“Sugartits”, I said calmly.

 

“YOU ARE GOING ON REPORT, LEOPARD! DROP AND GIVE ME A 100! YELL ‘I will not attack unsuspecting SAS soldiers because they are stronger and will kill me’ on every rise!”

 

I did them, yelling out the appropriate words. I got up lightly.

 

“You will spend all of tomorrow cleaning this kitchen and the main compound. Dismissed! Do not shower!”

 

“Night.” I left, moving through the crowd of glitter. Eagle had already left. Rider trailed after me. Yassen let me go without a word. I’d warned him ahead of time.

 

“What was that for?”, he asked. Smart kid.

 

“What did you learn?”

 

“Not to anger the SAS?” I kicked his foot lightly. “Be prepared for anything.”

 

“And?”, I asked.

 

“You will get blamed for anything.”

 

“Good.”

 

“That was all to teach me that?”, he asked.

 

“Part of it was to check for weaknesses in their security. Where were your weak points?”

 

“I thought you might be sane”, he muttered under his breath. I shouldered him. “There were no cameras. The camp relies on the soldiers being the main defense, and that nobody would be stupid enough to attack them.”

 

“How did I do it?”, I asked simply.

 

“Somebody helped you. They rigged the stereo system. You set the trip wires and bombs.”

 

“Why would I  be the one to do the bombs?” This was how you teach people planning and counter attacks. You learn how people think.

 

“I don’t know”, he said.

 

“You should go change.” I grinned cheerfully and went away to start taking down the traps. It took five minutes for the regiment to start flipping their shit (again).

 

Somebody had switched their clothes out for a single pink camo thong. You might ask where I got these things. Well, I gave an anonymous 200 dollar payment to Supply, and you can get pretty much anything, provided that you pay for the actual supplies as well. You also provide a warning on when the prank will take place. It took precisely six days to organize. Luckily, hacking into criminal organizations is more easy than you would think.

 

I continued to work on the traps while the Sergeant stood over me. “Leopard”, he sighed at me. “Why? Why would you destroy military property?”

 

“I didn’t, sir. I was here, clearing the traps and cleaning the area, even though there is nothing that points it to me.”

 

“Give up your partner or-!” I ignored him.

 

“Sir, unless you can prove that it was me . . .”, I said, trailing off.

 

“You know I can’t”, he growled at me.

 

“Well then, looks like I’m done here”, I said calmly, getting up and stretching. “Apparently I get to make the decision between being clean and having to wear a male thong or staying glitterfied.” I left. If I claimed that I knew nothing about a partner, and I was being watched by the Sergeant while the Thong Incident happened, then I was innocent. Well, until he had proof.

 

His eye twitched. “We have back-up uniforms. Unfortunately, they’ve been dyed pink.”

 

I didn’t say a word.

 

“I assume there’s a reason for this?”

 

“Sir”, I said.

 

“You’re still responsible for clean-up.”

 

“Sir.” I continued cleaning up. Rider approached m as soon as the Sergeant.

 

“Why?”, Rider asked me. Yes, he was wearing the thong, but eyecandy was not the point of this exercise.

 

“You tell me.”

 

“You did have a partner. It gives you an alibi, and makes it less likely that you did the first crime, since there is no evidence.”

 

I nodded at him. “See how the explosives were set up?”, I asked, pointing at one of the incendiary devices.

 

“Small controlled explosion from the timed lighter. That set off a small smark, traveling around the flammable trip wire, triggered the capsules. The heat blew the top off, along with the glitter and the spray paint was compacted in the capsules as well.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Why the thong?”, he asked, glaring at me.

 

“Are you gonna forget to expect a double attack?”, I asked calmly. He shook his head. “Supplies should be in by Monday. I hear that there are extra uniforms in pink.”

 

“So, you expect me to be paranoid all the time?”

 

“I expect you to learn when somebody is planning an attack, to face that threat, and learn why they did it.”

 

“So this was all to prove a point?”

 

“Yes. This is a demonstration that no place in safe so learn how to deal with it. I expect you to understand how to react in a real attack. If these had been real bombs, the whole regiment would be dead today. That’s the point, Cub.”

 

I continued cleaning up. Rider glared at me. I didn’t give a shit. I was teaching him to stay alive. Staying alive means sacrificing things like privacy, friends, and the pretense that you’re safe.

  
*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Firefly, and I am still mad that it was canceled. My family is still mad over that actually.
> 
> the bomb stuff is entirely made up. Nobody makes actually explosive glitter bombs.


	13. Russian Combat Kills

Last Time: I expect you to understand how to react in a real attack. If these had been real bombs, the whole regiment would be dead today. That’s the point, Cub.”

 

* * *

 

And so it went. Yassen (did you really think he would stay out of this?) and I spent the next two days, making Rider into a paranoid bastard. Andy McNab would be proud.

 

It got to the point where Rider automatically started checked for small explosions, buckets, tripwires, and a whole assortment of traps. He learned to always carry a knife incase we re-did the bathroom rope trap (he’d hung from the ceiling for three hours). The K-Unit quickly turned a blind eye once they realized the purpose of the activities.

 

“Don’t kill him”, was all Wolf told me.

 

“Don’t create more paperwork”, the Sergeant told me, before giving me the keys to supplies. I still got KP duty for the next six months.

 

Fury hadn’t contacted me, because he was working on getting four people out of the country without the British government going tornado. It takes work.

 

So yes, we all kept busy from trolling Rider. Several soldiers had started bets on what I would cook and when Rider would go completely crazy.  
  


Finally, the Sergeant broke down and gave me the ultimate punishment: breaking in the newbies on weapons training.

 

Winter selection had already been going on for a month. The newbies showed up after a month. Time to see if Rider could fight. The K-Unit had been on stand down since Rider was not fit enough for missions and I could be pulled at any moment. The other members had helped to run the first phase of selection.

 

“Right”, I said, stepping into the classroom. The floor was covered in mats. Sixteen men milled around. They stopped talking at once. Rider was in the back, I’d requested his presence. I was the only female they’d seen in a month. SAS learned fast that oddities were dangerous.

 

“Take off all your clothes and equipment, keep your boxers on”, I ordered, using a soft and easy tone. Most hesitated. I didn’t say anything else, just stood there.

 

“Why, ma’am?”, one soldier was brave enough to ask. He’d removed only his socks.

 

“Good question”, I said “Why do you fight back in full kit?”

 

“Because we wear it in combat”, the soldier answered briskly.

 

“And what do you wear at all times?”

 

“Skin”, another soldier said.

 

“I’m here to teach you how to defend yourself under any circumstances. Shower, sex, changing or any other time you forget your weapons and boots. I suggest that you take off them trousers, boys.” I stressed the last word, daring them. ‘Who Dares Wins’ after all. All of them stripped to their boxers quickly.

 

I followed suite. I kept my underwear and my bra on. Like I’ve said, nakedness is nothing new to me (besides it wasn’t truly nakedness). Yelling at them or telling them to follow orders wouldn’t fly here. The SAS is about being able to think.

 

“I would prefer that you ask me stupid questions than killing your mate.” They all nodded. “Pair up.” They did so. “Your goal is to take down your opponent in the most quiet way possible. Start.”

 

I watched for five minutes. Well, they weren’t morons. These guys were from other branches of the military. They had combat training. You know the cliches at this point.

 

“Alright, stop”, I hollered over the silence. They stopped and stood up. “Good solid effort!” A could hear Yassen snorting at me, across the compound. Positive reinforcement, Jesus fucking Christ.

 

“The goal in a fight is to not die.” They all nodded. I pointed at a guy. “What are the three basic guidelines?”

 

“Speed, aggression, control”, the guy named.

 

“Good.” I pointed at another guy. “What’s the best way to control an opponent?”

 

“His head”, he said. Most of us snorted at that.

 

“Right”, I said. “I’ll need a volunteer.” A guy raised his hand. I nodded and he stepped forward. “Relax, they get mad if I break you too badly”, I said cheerfully. I instructed him to place his arms on my shoulders, and proceeded to take him down in a number of different ways.

 

“The goal”, I explained. “is in holds like these, you go for the inner elbow and arm muscles. A lot of fighters will be stunned, and forget to use other body parts. It often puts their head lower so you can twirl them around and put them in a sleeper hold.”

 

“The SAS mainly teaches goshinkwai. It’s a type of Ju Jitsu focused on joint destruction, disorientation, and non-lethal methods. You will kill somebody. You knew that going in. If I see any of you using this to do anything that would shame this Regiment, I will do Things”, I said calmly. Seriously, all I do is speak in a calm tone.

 

“Yes, Ma’am”, they all said. I almost flinched.

 

“Good, practice what I taught you.” They did it very well. The SAS does not allow total morons to learn combat or handle guns, you know. I walked around, calling them out with corrections. “Right, good work today. The last thing I want to cover is how to roll and get up. Can I have a volunteer?” Another guy stepped forward. “The thing to remember is to keep your head, neck and spain safe. And everything else.” I pulled him into a grab, and shifted him forward so he could feel how I would throw him. “See that?” He nodded. I released him, not throwing him. I got on the floor and gave a breakdown of the systema rolls, and then I let the volunteer  throw me around.

 

I made all of them practice the rolls and some systema groundwork.

 

“Systema is different than the typical karate rolls, because it does a better job at moving naturalizing, teaching grapple work, and being more like a snake in a fight. It’s more about letting people fall off you. It’s useful in combat, because you can move more freely, and it keeps you more naturally balanced”, I informed. “Now, I don’t quite trust your ability to roll systematically yet, so I’m gonna be the rollee for the demonstration.”

 

I let them try to flip me around for several minutes. “Good, now I’m going to flip each one of you slowly. Just relax, yes?” I didn’t actually want to break their necks. This was what the Russians used after all, and I’d had bruises for days after Yassen had fun with me.

 

It went well. Nobody got their neck broken.

 

“Systema is employed most famously by Russians. The style can be changed from more passive to aggressive. I like it because it teaches you to protect soft spots and mobility. It’s good if you’re working in crowds. It is not always  good for silent operations. You are dismissed. Homework is to practice controlling ground, forward rolls.

 

I got dressed while thinking about Rider. He’d done well, on level with the other recruits.

 

“Cub”, I called at him. “Stay for a moment. I waited until the recruits had left. “Any residual pain?” He shook his head. “Okay, I suggest you go practice then.” He stared warily at me. I smiled at him. Operation flip Rider is a go.

 

He left in somewhat of a hurry.

 

I left, checking my phone. One missed call that was a blocked number. I hit re-dial.

  
“Midnight, tonight”, Fury said and hung up.

 

*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glitter bomb thing was entirely inspired from when I wrote this with Ash Cassidy. She did it for fun.
> 
> Andy McNab is the penname of a very very paranoid man who embodies the practice of ‘it’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you’. There are no photographs of his face to date, which is incredible because of the man’s success as an author. He’s ex-SAS and his paranoia is very well deserved.
> 
> The Avengers will really happen soon, like next two chapters if I can get Felix to cooperate with it. Alex had to start training at Brecon Beacons for Reasons, mostly because of future living circumstances.
> 
> This quickly became a how do I procrastinate? Alex Rider fanfiction
> 
> In defense of the combat, it is a crime to report or specify the combat techniques they employ. There are many people breaking this rule on youtube. I don’t do physical violence. It’s too easy to prove. It’s a better plan to attack somebody in small, discrete ways until they surrender. Systema is a serious combat method that’s pretty cool. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79Y85ruH1Kg video that’s basically what Felix did  
> I can give more links if asked. http://www.systemauk.com/video.html UK website that’s very good. I’ve tried systema rolls. They’re fucking difficult. Also, do not DO NOT practice them on bare carpet. It will look like an epic sunburn.
> 
> Felix did not have an easy childhood, or teenhood, or adulthood. People don’t work for MI6 (even with blackmail) unless there is something to blackmail with. I messed up with her education. Assume that she went to Russia and did a semester abroad in England or vice versa.


	14. I met a computer

Last Time: _I left, checking my phone. One missed call that was a blocked number. I hit re-dial._

_“Midnight, tonight”, Fury said and hung up._

* * *

 

I packed quickly. I informed the Sergeant, K-Unit, Yassen, and Jamie.

 

“How do you think he’s planning?”, Rider asked me. I think he was only going with me, because I’d demonstrated that the K-Unit would be dead if he stayed here any longer.

 

“Don’t know”, I said. If I had to bet, it would be with one of those quinjets. “You sure about this?”

 

“They’ll end up dead if I stay. I already have to stay away from Jack.” He sounded exhausted. “Does it get better?”

 

I looked up, ducked my head back down. “No.” His shoulders shagged. “You learn to live with people who can handle their own. I’ve learned to living. It’s why Yassen eats skittles and I know how to hypothetically set off glitter bombs. Life goes to hell, but it doesn’t stop.”

 

I wish I could give him hope. I wish a lot of things: like Firefly wasn’t cancelled, John Shepard will one day knock on my door along with the Doctor, that I could list a bunch of cliches and be bought, but you can’t stop living when nothing goes right. You pick yourself right side up (drunk and sleep deprived) and go right on (possibly plotting murder).You keep going because you don’t know how to do anything else, and because you want to build a TARDIS.

 

“You’re full of happy, aren’t you?”

 

“Rainbows and unicorns. Go pack.”

 

* * *

 

*Midnight*

 

I shook Wolf’s hand, and got on the quinjet. The Sergeant had taken Yassen away, and given him the ‘you fuck with my daughter, I will kill you’ talk (which is one of the funniest things ever). Eagle and Snake had hugged me. Ugh, feelings.

 

The jet was small. It had landed in the airstrip. I didn’t look back when boarding, even though I really wanted to. Fury was flying the plane by himself. He was worried that I would get cold feet.

 

I sat down in the co-pilot seat.

 

“Well?”, he asked.

 

“Nice wheels”, I said. He chuckled. “Where are we going again?”

 

“United States, the JFK airport, 12 miles from our final destination. It should take nine hours.” He didn’t say that we’d already gone over this. Shield understands paranoia (hindsight is 20/20).

 

“Cool”, Rider said, sitting in the chair behind me.

 

“We clear?”, I asked Fury.

 

“We will be in thirty minutes. Technically, we’re already clear under Shield regs and UK regs.” You aren’t really supposed to make teenagers kill people.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

And so it went. We landed and drove into Manhattan. This wasn’t the breakfast club, where if you get locked up enough, you become best buds. Fury parked outside a large tower, and yeah it had Stark’s ‘A’ on it. Fury and I had talked about this. It did him no good if I lived in a Shield building when they didn’t like Shield. I hugged Yassen tightly and got out.

 

I am not a fool. We’d live across the street. If I was a good person, I’d feel bad about starting a relationship on hiding things. Lucky for you, I’m not a good person, so yeah, it was to keep everybody safe. The Avengers were still dealing with Hydra, they didn’t need a splinter group after them.

 

Fury handed the car over to Yassen. He drove off, and Fury walked me inside Avenger tower.

 

“Miss Ubiquesta, sir will be down shortly”, Jarvis said.

 

“Thank you, sir”, I said formally. I think I’ll stay on Possible Skynet’s good side. My inner hacker really really wanted to look at that code. Fury raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t interfere. This was a power-play. Stark had radar and scanners and god-knew what else. He knew the second I’d arrived. “Any specific time that I have to acknowledge Stark as my master, mister Jarvis? Because I’ve had a long flight and Fury kept kicking my chair.”

 

I wasn’t Coulson. I wasn’t that uptight suite who could play the waiting game with this man. The first rule of dominance games is to not play them. If you’re staring so hard into somebody’s eyes, you will never see their knife. Hacking Jarvis would just be rude.

 

The elevator dinged. Captain Rogers stepped out. I smiled at him cheerfully.

 

“Captain Steven Rogers, ma’am.” He shook my hand, flashing a smile at me.

 

“Felix Ubiquesta.” He squeezed my hand firmly. His eyes were bitter. I almost raised my eyebrows or glared at Fury for not warning me (but I knew to expect this). He didn’t like me, either because I was a new handler or because of-nope, definitely the handler thing. Could be Coulson or their previous handler.

 

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team.” He left Fury in the hallway, and led me to the elevator. “No luggage?” He selected the fiftieth floor.

 

“Living across the street. Somebody’s dropping off my luggage.” Actually, Yassen’s going to instruct Rider on the art of ditching digital surveillance. Rogers smiled at me.

 

“You gonna keep half-lying to me?”, he asked. Rogers wasn’t Captain America because he runs away from fights.

 

“I don’t know. Are you gonna play the innocent virgin that you do in the PR meetings?” He kept silent at that. “I don’t like playing games, Captain. Do not make me.” Goddamn dominance games. There couldn’t be any more subtext with this was a Sherlock Holmes episode written by somebody with an Alpha/Omega kink.

 

I met all the Avengers. They were a silent, motley bunch to me. Well, Stark hit on me constantly, but with a kind of craziness. I didn’t bother trying to fend him off. Miss Potts knew exactly what he was doing, and men being obnoxious was oddly calming.

 

Thor was polite. Banner was more isolated than outer space. Romanov smiled at me coldly. Barton kept following me from the ceiling. Miss Foster was in a lab; she didn't feel the need to come up and greet me. Lewis was probably with her. I got the feeling that I was another goon handler that would pass out in a few weeks, to them.

 

“Well”, I said at last, ending the silence. “I’ll just go so you can talk about me. Good evening.” They’d dealt with PR before, and reminding them of it would be dumb.  I took the stairs. I didn't bothering wondering what they thought of it. I sure as hell didn’t bother giving a grand speech. They'd either think it was good judgement or weird. “Well, mister Jarvis?”

 

“I can not say, Miss Ubiquesta’, he said. I didn’t tell him that I found the accent comforting. I’d been to America twice. Once to do recon for Scorpia, and once to kill somebody for Scorpia. Claustrophobia.

 

“Loyalty is a good value, mister Jarvis. Sorry I asked.”

 

“Why did you, ma’am?”

 

“High-school computer nerd.” I didn’t feel guilt telling him. Stark already had everything he could on me. (I didn't find it in me to underestimate a man who had built an ARC REACTOR out of scraps.) "AI morals are an interesting subject.”

 

I jogged down the last few stairs. 100 flights that I would regret tomorrow but I hate elevators. You get to have a nice easy ride up, and your enemy has a nice amount of time preparing to shoot you when you arrive.

 

I collapsed in a bed. Yassen was already half asleep when I came. He still trained a gun on me like a good little assassin. The apartment was tiny. Rider shared a bedroom with Jamie. I shared a room with Yassen. It was cramped, but it had wi-fi (thankfully, paid for by Shield because Yassen has a slight addiction to Netflix and youtube), two bathrooms, and crap TV. I’d taken the smaller room with Yassen, and the bathroom. Jamie and Alex shared the larger bedroom.

 

“Kids alright?”, I asked, poking the Russian.

 

“Yes, go to sleep.”

  
“Alright.” I didn’t think anything else until around 2am. Fury had installed an Avenger alarm on my phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have blueprints so ha. And yes, they may have been based off of ‘How I Met Your Mother’, but so what.
> 
> I continued my research (sometimes painful) into Systema. It is used by Russian Spetsnaz, and it does look really weird, but it works for a lot of people. I’ve watched more Russian documentaries in the past two hours than English (*groans*). I do not know Russian, folks. Different martial arts work for different people, and it really depends on how they employ them. Felix likes it for weird reasons. She enjoys mobility and flexibility that it requires.
> 
> Spetsnaz demonstrating it:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZ8bPxf-Lz4 uh, it’s entirely in Russian 
> 
> Yassen knows it, because it’s Yassen and that’s my entire argument. In the books, he learned a style of Ninjutsu in the books. Systema is probably what Natasha was trained in, being Russian Special Forces. Honestly, whatever works, doesn’t get you killed or injured, and accomplishes your task is fine.
> 
> I like violence a little too much to want to teach it or practice it so don’t read this as a how-to guide to kill people. “Don’t kill people, because you will be caught and die. Don’t kill people in the missionary. Don’t kill standing up. Just don’t do it. Promise? Okay, everybody take a knife.”  
> It’s okay, nobody got the Mean Girls reference either.
> 
> Tell me when Felix get’s unrealistic. I struggle to write a dark role-model a lot, because it hits close to home at times. I write to inspire myself first, and y’all second.
> 
> Also, “What’s your number?” is an awesome movie. Chris Evans and Martin Freeman, do you really need anything else (everybody is a troll and a stalky bear)?


	15. I die from papercuts

Last Time: _I didn’t think anything else until around 2am. Fury had installed an Avenger alarm on my phone._

* * *

 

I grabbed my shoes, and coat. Yassen tossed me a gun. I caught it and checked the clip.

 

“You got the kids?”, I asked, grabbing my backpack.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to wear a suit?”, Yassen shot back. I looked at my jeans, sports bra, and coat. I threw a shirt and several ponytail holders into the bag. I buttoned up the coat. The bag also contained a laptop and some equipment.

 

“They’re clean, and do not murder the kiddies”, I yelled as I ran out the door. I ran across the street and into the Avenger headquarters. They’d been operating at the Tower, because Shield had turned into Hydra.

 

“Mister Jarvis?”, I half-shouted, entering the building.

 

“They’re in the meeting room, to your left.” I jogged into the room. It resembled some kind of war room. They staggered in from the opposite door. I tapped my phone, projecting the information on Stark’s projector.

 

“Mister Jarvis, can you give access the city cameras?” He brought up a holographic display through the center table. I enlarged the target area, and colored it red.

 

“Why is it always lower Manhattan?”, Stark asked, hugging a cup of coffee. I’d wager that he hadn’t slept.

 

“They like the view”, Barton said.

 

“The Dire Wraith are attacking”, I said, pulling up schematics of them.

 

“Again”, Barton muttered.

 

“Again”, I agreed.

 

“Attack Plan A”, Rogers said. Everybody nodded. Attack Plan A is basically: Stark and Thor air support, Barton as sniper, and Hulk, and yeah, you get the picture. Let’s just say that a lot of people try to take over New York, for some reason.

 

“Right”, I said. We moved out. Thor was still wearing bunny slippers. You would think that he would be wearing the Thor slippers, but no. I did not have tea that morning.

 

I let them do their thing. 3% of my job was handling them on missions, Fury had told me. 97% of my job was handling them after. So yes, boring though it may be, I stayed mostly out of the way. I warned them of incoming attacks to different positions, but everybody knows that it’s hell if your boss is micromanaging you. Besides, I was the new kid here. I stayed at the tac station that Shield had set up.

 

“Done”, Captain America said thirty minutes later.

 

“Good job. Shield will handle the clean-up. Report back to the tac center for debrief”, I ordered over the comms.

 

“Yes, ma’am”, he said.

 

They all stood in front of me. Barton was bruised and banged up. Everybody else looked alright. Black Widow was watching me closely. Rogers looked all respectful. Banner was naked. They all looked dead on their feet.

 

“Go home”, I said finally. “Eat something.” They left, not offering me a ride or saying anything. I didn’t expect them to. Teams have to be protective, they have to be closed off to the outside, because when it comes down to it . . .they only have each other in that warzone.

 

I picked up the paperwork for the mission, including all the paperwork from the past six months. Paperwork had been lost, reshuffled, and generally ignored because of more pressing problems, like discovering that Shield had been overrun by Nazis.

 

I went through all the personnel who had been on site during the mission, making sure they were all good. I cleared the supplies needed for medical treatment for civilians (I was in charge of all affairs that the Avengers had a hand in). Nobody was particularly amused that I was an outsider, trying to do Coulson’s job.

 

After I finished scheduling clean-up, I took a cab back to the Shield headquarters in New York, and began my homework. Somebody had given me a tiny office next to what had been Coulson’s. The only thing good so far about the setup was that Coulson had an excellent filing system. I got an intern to deliver all the boxes on the Avengers. It looked something you see in one of those lawyer shows.

 

Captain America alone should have deserved his own room (seventy years of research).

 

Eight hours later, I finally left for my apartment, hogging a box of files around me.

 

Yassen greeted me at the door. “How was your day, honey?”, he asked in a sugary voice.

 

“You know how you are completely off the grid? And generate no paperwork?”, I asked. “I think I love you.”

 

“Yeah?”, Rider asked, seriously. “Aren’t you already married?” I started laughing so hard.

 

“Uh, he’s like ancient”, I chuckled.

 

“Shhh, don’t deny our love”, Yassen said firmly.

 

“I’ll start dinner.” I moved to the kitchen, but Rider blocked me.

 

“I’ve heard stories”, he said. I glared at Yassen.

 

“That was one time.”

 

“No, it was three times, four if you count the beans”, he said firmly. “I cook”, he reassured Rider.

 

I glared at him, but sat at the living room table and started my homework. The paperwork amount was something you would expect from being a medical student, not from handling one team. Anybody would’ve quit from the task of filing this shit, never mind the actual missions.

 

I kept going until I ran into the thing about all their possible issues. Apparently all of them had a thing for leaping off of buildings without parachutes. I tapped my pen twice and made a mental note to see all the Avengers about this.

 

“Take a break.” Yassen passed me a plate of nachos. I leaned back against him.

 

“Am I really the best person for this job?”, I asked him.

 

“No, but you’re the only one who can do it. They’ve scared off the sane ones, the ones who know all the proper procedures, the ones who who’ve never been up the creek and aren’t on the World Council's side.”

 

“And if they never trust me?”

 

“So what? I didn’t trust you. We work out alright.”

 

“Shared life experience.”

 

“Fury picked you, because you have shared life experience with them. He picked you because you’re ironically more afraid of public speaking than you are of working with Russian assassins.”

 

“I know that. How was school?”

 

“Hmm. I started teaching Alex Russian. He learned how to say ‘you killed my father, prepare to die’.”

 

“Nice.” You can’t say that Yassen doesn’t have a well-developed sense of irony.

 

* * *

 *Next Day*

 

A bomb threat went out. The bombers had hoped that the city would be confused after the Dire Wraith attack. The crime rate in New York had increased over the past six months. The X-Men were constantly busy, trying to get a handle on the underground mutant population. The Avengers went out for crowd control, and rescue. Bombs kept going off.

 

The mission went fine, with minimum casualties. Right up to the point when Rogers got a twelve foot pike rammed through his side, and he started bleeding out.

  
*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jasper Sitwell is not Hydra, because he is awesome and I love his bald head.
> 
> Yes, the Avengers are assholes to Felix, but they have decent reasons. Sort of.
> 
> Alright, I wrote 2 missions to start with. Yup. I wrote only the aftereffect though *facepalms*
> 
> The Dire Wraith are real in the Marvel world. This week’s update goes out to all those people who are taking AP exams, because it sucks man. Accepted is perhaps the perfect movie to watch after that amount of bullshit. Also, Colbert re-runs and John Oliver.
> 
> I have yet to see Avengers 2, but a lot of this is definitely gonna conflict with that anyway.
> 
> http://shieldrecruitsurvivaltips.tumblr.com/page/9 you are welcome. like omg. #I tried to give Cap a life alert necklace.
> 
> The paperwork got a large mention because Felix is used to black ops missions which means no damn paperwork. As somebody who has to actually keep their research organized: there is a lot of paperwork involved.


	16. Barton is Ceiling Cat

Last Time: _The mission went fine, with minimum casualties. Right up to the point when Rogers got a twelve foot pike rammed through his side, and he started bleeding out._

* * *

 I was already on scene, and ran toward his last known position. Rogers was on the ground, gritting his teeth and trying not to scream. He’d been undercovering some kids when a support beam in the building had collapsed, and run him through on his right side, mid chest. Stark was trying to hold him steady. The entire place was falling down.

 

I ordered for a med team, careful to remain calm. “I need Thor and Hulk down here, now”, I barked through the comms. I opened my backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. I looked over across at Stark. He looked shaky with the mask down. “Hold him still”, I said softly. “Hey Rogers.” He coughed up blood, but met my eyes. I examined the pipe. It had him pinned to the ground. “How’s your healing factor?”

 

“Been worse”, he gasped, trying to get up. Stark kept him down.

 

“I know.” Hulk and Thor showed up. “Hulk, hold him down.”

 

Stark backed off, still looking freaked out (Afghanistan). Hulk effectively wrapped his hands around the Captain, pinning him to the ground, but leaving a gap around the pipe. The medics were taking their sweet time to get here, and Rogers couldn’t heal properly with pipe still in him.

 

“Thor, I need you to pull the pipe out”, I said softly, keeping my eyes on Rogers. I moved so I could turn his neck away from the sight. The man didn’t need anymore visuals to give him nightmares. “Pass out if you can”, I told Rogers.

 

“Ya s’me kin’a doc?” he slurred around the blood in his mouth.

 

“Yeah, fully qualified and all that.” Thor grasped the pipe and began to pull it out. Rogers started to scream. “Make sure that you don’t jerk it around”, I told him.

 

“Ya h’ve prac’ce with je’ing it?”, Rogers coughed in between the screams. Man has a high pain tolerance, poor bastard. Stark sounded like he was going to puke.

 

“Dry and rough, Rogers.” He laughed weakly and passed out. Thor finished pulling the pipe out, and laid it down gently. I started layering gauze on Rogers, putting pressure on the wound. We flipped him on the side. I wrapped bandages around his chest. Thor, the Hulk, and I were covered in the Captain’s blood. “Stark, go see where Medical is, NOW!”, I barked at him.

 

He took a step toward the tactical command, but medical finally ran into sight.They got Rogers up on a litter, and carried him out of there. We followed behind (I signaled Sitwell that he had the command). They evacuated him to Shield headquarters, and had him in surgery within twenty minutes. All the Avengers and I stood outside the OR, tense and nervous. Banner had managed to change back.

 

I kept checking my watch. Finally, after two hours, they told us he was critical but stable.

 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in to see you-”, the lead doctor said. I smiled at him cheerfully.

 

“Sir, I am going to stop you right now. Do not go there.”

 

“But-”

 

“No”, I said cheerfully. “Trust me, do not go there.”

 

“I can not allow you to-” I sighed, and threw a knife at him, pinning him to the wall. He stared at me, and tugged at his pined arm but couldn’t move the knife.

 

“I am tired, uncaffeinated, and I will take hostile action if you do not let us see the Captain.”

 

“Visiting hours are until-”, he started once again. I tossed a knife, balancing it on the tip of my left, still bloody hand. “Until whenever you want”, he finished meekly.

 

“Thank you”, I said, cheerfully, pulling the knife out of the wall. Really, it was simpler than letting the Avengers try to sneak in.

 

The Avengers trailed behind me. Rogers was laying, passed out in a private room on a hospital bed. His stats were normal, but he looked pale, and was still covered in bandages. Stark flinched at the sight. He’d taken off the suite.

 

“Y’all might want to get cleaned up”, I said softly. Romanov kept staring at me. They went one at a time into the on-suite bathroom to wash up. I tapped Stark lightly on the shoulder and guided him into the hallway. The others watched, but didn’t follow. I led him into a room and shut the door.

 

“It was my fault”, he whispered. His hands kept clenching and unclenching. I looked at him.

 

“Maybe”, I allowed. “But if you were in that bed, you wouldn’t think it was Steve’s, would you?”

 

“No”, he said.

 

“You can’t protect everybody from everything, Stark.”

 

“So, what, I just do my BEST?”

 

“Yes, and you hope you can learn to do better.” He punched the wall next to my head.

 

“So what, this is damn learning experience?!”, he whispered.

 

“Looks that way.” He sighed heavily. “Rogers know the risks just as well as you do.” He turned away from me. “You need to accept that.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Too damn bad. If he starts bleeding you better be prepared to staunch the wound, Stark.” I kept my voice gentle. This may not have been a soldier, but he’d gone through hell.

 

“Why do you even give a shit?”

 

“I’ve watched people like you die, because they couldn’t handle it. I’ve watched the smart ones burn away and people break when it wasn’t them who was being hurt. I don’t want that to happen again.” I touched his shoulder and squeezed. “Nobody blames you for Rogers getting hurt, nor for not being able to watch him in pain.”

 

He turned back and looked at me. “You’re still a spy.”

 

“And you’re still the man who designed the most advanced AI while in a drunk haze.” I led the way back to Roger’s room. I opened up my laptop and pulled up the schematics on the corridor we were in. I looked at them. There weren’t enough chairs. I went across the hall, and dragged additional ones in. “There’s a room, two doors down, with several beds if you want to take shifts once he wakes up, but until then.”

 

I sat down in a chair, and pulled out a stack of files from my trusty backpack. At least this time, I had worn an actual shirt.

 

“Is it true that you were a doctor?”, Romanov asked.

 

“Didn’t Stark suss that out?”, I asked rhetorically. “Yes, I also used to run black ops for some people.”

 

“For MI6”, Barton said from the vents. Apparently, he liked to watch from a distance.

 

“Yeah. I didn’t like their dental plan, and Fury offered me a 401(k) and hazard pay.”

 

“But you don’t like hospitals”, Banner said, tilting his head.

 

“There was a thing involving a lizard and shaving cream”, I shuddered. Apparently, we’d gotten to the interogation part of this relationship.

 

“Was it the smell?”, Rogers wheezed. He coughed, and tried to get up. Romanov pinned him down.

 

“You would think, but it was the scales that really got to me.” I hit the button to get the doctor. He cleared Rogers as ‘still in danger, but should be fine’. The idiot kept trying to get out of bed or fessing with his tubes. Romanov kept batting his hands away.

 

Finally, Rogers looked at Stark and said simply, “Not your fault, Tony so stop with the look.”

 

“I know”, Stark shrugged it off. I choked-coughed at that. Romanov rolled his eyes. I stepped outside to call Yassen, and tell him that I’d be home late. I planned to stay, watch Rogers, and do paperwork. The Avengers took shifts. Rogers would be discharged within a few days, at the latest. Lucky bastard.

 

I only stepped out to get tea or use the bathroom. You don’t leave a comrade by themselves when they’re down, and you want somebody watched, you better do the watching. Rogers dozed on and off. I managed to get through ⅔ of the paperwork in that eight over time frame. Barton stayed up in the vents, watching me. The doctors kept far away from me. Apparently, the word had gotten around that I had knives.

 

*To be continued*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there was a point to me hurting Steve (although do we really need a reason?). Something needed to happen to get the Avengers to understand that Felix is, at least, better than their past handlers. And yes, there’s gonna be more detail on how their past handlers were assholes. Poor Barton.
> 
> Admit it, you like that I don’t leave you hanging long. It helped that I had 20% of this planned for six months. Yes, I can feel the rage from here, on the moon. Shhh, NASA doesn’t know, but I’m the one who's been messing with their Internet.
> 
> My life choices: studying or fanfiction? fanfiction.


	17. Medical is Medical no longer

Last Time: _I only stepped out to get tea or use the bathroom. You don’t leave a comrade by themselves when they’re down, and you want somebody watched, you better do the watching. Rogers dozed on and off. I managed to get through ⅔ of the paperwork in that eight over time frame. Barton stayed up in the vents, watching me. The doctors kept far away from me. Apparently, the word had gotten around that I had knives._

 

* * *

 

It took another two weeks before it went to hell.

 

Rogers had been discharged from the hospital, three days after the pipe. It had been . . .interesting. Rogers kept insisting that he was fine. Sam Wilson (a vet who was one of Roger’s friends) and Romanov did not buy the shit that he was selling. I didn’t either, but I let his team handle it. The Avengers may have warned up to me a little bit, but I was still an outsider.

 

I spent the majority of those three days going through the paperwork, and handling some of their PR. Luckily, Miss Potts did the majority of PR, because the Avengers fell under Stark International’s protection. She was a nice lady who only asked me to give a brief statement that Captain America would make a full recovery.

 

Rogers was fine. I hinted once about talking about it, but he had quickly deflected and reassured me strongly that he was fine. I left it, knowing when to pick my battles.

 

I put the Avengers on leave. Fury waited two weeks, before he requested Romanov for an assignment. I have share handlership of Barton and Romanov with Shield, since they’re still Agents. I approved it, since it was a regular thing, and not my jurisdiction to refuse anyway. Rogers approved it.

 

Two days later, the Avengers were called out on mission to save upper Manhattan from giant snakes, mind controlling snakes (be careful what you wish for, Stark). Barton got thrown into a window, getting his back caught up, but he didn’t report it until the mission was over. I ordered him to report to medical when it was over. I followed him to medical, and handed him over after the doctors told me that they had it.

 

I trudged to a bathroom to get cleaned up. And that would be the precise moment that everybody went to hell. I heard a small explosion, and the ceiling shook lightly. Dust fell on my head. What the hell?

 

“Would Felix Ubiquesta please report to Medical”, a panicked voice asked politely. The sound system got cut off suddenly.

 

I ran, pelting through the hallways. I stopped outside of Medical, and entered.

 

The entire place was chaos, and not the neat contained chaos of typical ERs, but more of a warzone apocalypse of the set of Contagion. Barton was not in the center of it, but rather off to the side, wearing a very revealing hospital gown. No, medical personnel were running around because Barton had a large stockpile of scalpels, and was currently throwing at them at medical personnel who approached him.

 

I took a deep breath and exhaled.

 

“EVERYBODY CLEAR THE ROOM!”, I hollered over the mayhem. The medical personnel was all too happy to do so.

 

I kept my distance, watching Barton. He was shaking. Most people look non-threatening or small in hospital gowns. Most people do not have a stockpile of scalpels and impeccable aim.

 

“I told them to back off, ma’am”, he said.

 

“I know you did, Barton. I know, alright.” I did. This man was highly suspicious, and watched everything. People like him weigh their options carefully. He’s made shitty choices, but only because the other options were worse. “I need you to hand over the scalpels though.”

 

“No”, he said firmly. “I can’t, ma’am.”

 

“Alright, why?”

 

“They tried to stitch me up without anesthetics, with restraints.” I had to breath slowly at that.

 

“Has this happened before?”

 

“Yeah, I thought they were under orders?” I sat down after that. People should be plotting their funeral arrangements.

 

“They are not, Barton. Why would you think that?”

 

“After Loki”, he started slowly. “Shield’s been . . .”

 

“Right”, I said, breathing out slowly. “That’s wrong, Barton.”

 

“But the last handler . . .”, he trailed off again.

 

“Whatever they did was wrong, and we are going to talk about this”, I said firmly. “However, you still need to be stitched up so how do you want to do this?”

 

“I’m fine”, he said. I mentally started writing an apology note to the K-Unit.

 

“I would prefer that your definition of ‘fine’ does not include you bleeding.”

 

“You remind me of somebody.”

 

“Still bleeding, Barton.”

 

“Are you still a doctor?”, he asked carefully. He hadn’t handed over the scalpels, and I did not expect him to.

 

“Yes”, I said, wondering how I always got roped into being a doctor. “I need to call one of your teammates up here.”

 

“Why?”, he asked, irritably. “Just stitch me up.”

 

“While I’m honoured by your trust, I need somebody else up here to verify that I don’t do anything untoward while I’m stitching you up.” I was resolute on this. Barton had been abused by his employers from what I understood. He deserved to have somebody who he trusted to watch his back. And I did not trust his judgement on telling me when I was hurting him right now.

 

“Steve”, he said at last. And it made sense. Romanov was still on mission. The timing on that and Medical going too far in their constant abuse was not a coincidence. Rogers was strong, loyal, not easily shocked (I’ve watched him troll Stark for the past three weeks), and he could squish my head like a sponge.

 

“Okay then.” I did not try to ask him out of a corner or try to comfort him. Smart paranoid people know that they’re paranoid, but they have a damn good reason for it. I didn’t try to comfort him in much the same way that you don’t critique Andy McNab for being ridiculously paranoid for no reason. I called over the speaker system, “Could Captain Steve Rogers please report to Medical?”

 

It took him a total of thirty seconds. I kept sitting on the ground, gritting my teeth, and waiting a person that I honestly liked bleed out. Thirty seconds is thirty seconds is thirty seconds, not eternity.

 

Rogers knocked, and came in. “This have something to do with people milling around outside?”

 

“Hmm”, I said. I didn’t add ‘don’t worry, I’ll kill them shortly’. Plausible deniability (you are already an enabler). Rogers stared at Barton.

 

“Clint?”, he asked. Barton flinched slightly.

 

“Medical is scheduled for evaluation”, I said blandly. “I would appreciate your help in stitching him up.” I didn’t want to get into the details with Rogers, because he (if he is a decent man) would get angry. Rogers raised his eyebrows but nodded. “Barton?”, I asked.

 

“You’re not gonna?”

 

“No. I like anesthetics and informed consent.” Rogers tensed slightly, because it was easy to get the picture.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay. I’m gonna help you up.” I did. Rogers helped too. We eased him down, sitting him upright on a bench. I looked closely at him. He was sweating. “Rogers, straddle the bench. Barton lean against him with your chest facing him.” They positioned themselves as I directed. It made it possible for Rogers to literally watch Barton’s back, and restrain him if necessary.

 

I set up a bunch of mirrors so Barton could see what I was doing behind him. I scrubbed up, fiercely washing my hands and up past my elbows, working out some of my anger. I set up a tray for Barton’s wounds. He had large fragments of glass embedded in his back, surrounded by scar tissue. I hissed in sympathy.

 

“I’m going to give you several locals. It shouldn’t make you drowsy.” Barton nodded, and I gave him a round of shots. I started to cut out the glass, sterilizing the wounds. Barton didn’t flinch, but he did lean into Rogers. Rogers kept glaring at me. I stitched up the cuts.

 

“Easy, Clint. She’s almost done”, he said. He’d kept his hands lightly on Barton’s hips. Barton was breathing heavily.

 

“Almost done, I promise.” I was. I finished in the next five minutes, carefully wrapping his back. “Done”, I said, sitting back.

 

Barton took off, stumbling off the bench, and breathing heavily. Rogers looked him. “Clint, it’s fine. Just calm down.”

 

“Are you going to leave me here?”, he asked.

 

“No”, I said without hesitation. “I planning on you go back to Stark’s and sleeping for nine hours, and then talking about this.”

 

“I’m fine”, he tried again.

 

“I’ve heard a guy say ‘that whenever somebody hears ‘I’m fine’ they immediately start worrying’ and I’m starting to see their point.”

 

“I feel awesome”, Barton muttered. I smiled at him.

 

“Come on, let’s blow this place.” Huh, now there’s a thought. I could just repaint the entire place like a disaster place, with warning signs or with nice information leaflets.

 

I supplied Barton with a pair of sweats and a trench coat. The gown had been pretty much useless at preserving any dignity, since medical had molested him and removed his underwear. Rogers didn’t care about having a mostly naked man semi-hugging him. He was in the military, folks.

 

I walked them out of a different exit so we didn’t run into any medical personnel. Rogers kept giving me Looks, but I ignored him for the moment. I hailed a cab, and we kept up a dead silence to Stark’s place.

 

Jarvis was wise enough to not say a word while Barton took the elevator with us up to his floor. Jarvis would alert Stark if he deemed it necessary. Rogers waited until I helped Barton settle in, and waited until he was asleep. The man was tired after battling Medical’s ‘care’.

 

Rogers led the way back into the team kitchen, where the team was ironically waiting.

 

“So?”, Stark asked. I shook my head at him. I called Romanov’s handler, and requested that she be back ASAP, yelling at the man when he tried to refuse. I got him to pass the phone to her, and quickly explained in Russian that Barton was injured and shaky. She hung up after saying that she would be back tomorrow.

 

“Well?”, Rogers asked.

 

“Medical has been abusing him for the past six months.” I resisted the urge to find some good Vodka, and make with the drinking. You don’t drink in this kind of mood. “He thought they’d been doing it on orders, disciplining him for New York.” I didn’t say the word ‘Loki’ because Thor was there, and I wasn’t a dick.

 

“And he thought that we agreed with?”, Stark asked sharply.

 

“Yes”, I said curtly. “or at least, he thought that you didn’t care enough to regulate it. He probably didn’t want you in trouble for interfering.” I really really wanted a drink. I didn’t get one, but sighed heavily. “I’m telling you this in confidence, and if you hurt him more, I will kill you.” I glared at them.

 

It wasn’t right to blame them, but they should’ve noticed. I knew it wasn’t right to blame them, because if Barton thought it was normal, he wouldn’t have given anything away. He would’ve taken it in silence. I told them as much.

 

“Stark, do you have the supplies to design a medical wing?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I suggest you do that, and you guys use that in the future. I am going to go watch Barton. He cleared it. Please excuse me.” I left unable to prevent the shaking in my hands.

 

I take issue with these kinds of mistakes.

 

* * *

 

I called Fury, and had a long conversation. The Medical teams would be punished, evaluated, and possibly disappeared. He swore up and down that he had not cleared, and not would clear, that kind of behavior. I told him to watch his step, because if this ever happened again I would take him down.

 

I have a Thing.

 

I don’t like people. People are cruel and mean and have a delightful tendency to be dicks, but there was a point. Medical professions was still a holy thing to me. You inherently have to trust your doctor when they’re sticking things in your mouth, and asking you to remove your clothes.

 

I sat next to Barton. Rogers joined me. I would bet that most of the Avengers were waiting. Their name kind of gives it away. People would die over this. Barton slept for only four hours.

  
*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched Captain America2, and I felt the feels so hard man. Jesus. Sebastian Stan is so . . .huggable in that. ‘rewatched’ is not a word but ‘huggable’ is. What the hell, google docs.
> 
> There is a song called ‘airship pirates’, and no, you’re not supposed to assign it as Fury’s ringtone. I’ve been reading the Shield Agent tips, and omg. I just . . .the Internet is so used for the weirdest shit ever that improves my life. Like there are over 500 tips and just randomness on that site.
> 
> Yes, Sam Wilson is in this, because he’s a badass. I’m still ignoring Cap2 for Reasons. Reasons that will (hopefully) make themselves known by chapter 20. Yes, this is a long fic (I never properly plan plot, because the characters takeover anyways), but I swear that I want to complete it.
> 
> For this, let’s just say that Steve met Sam the same way he did in the movie, but the stuff that followed is different. The Hydra stuff still happened obviously but Steve does not know anything about the Winter Soldier.
> 
> I would also recommend ‘The decline of the American Empire’ because oh my god is that amazing.
> 
> For those that care (thelightwithin), I planned this as well, six months ago (or earlier). Yeah, I’m evil. But, I could have cut it off before Steve showed up so, I’m less evil than I could be.
> 
> Me when I try to do laundry: Bug attacks. Seriously, they’re a weird cross between mosquitoes and fleas, but tiny and smaller wings. And I couldn’t sleep. Trust me, you wouldn’t either knowing that as soon as you turn off all lights, they’re coming for you.


	18. Proper Procedures (does not involve killing people without paperwork)

Last Time: _I sat next to Barton. Rogers joined me. I would bet that most of the Avengers were waiting. Their name kind of gives it away. People would die over this. Barton slept for only four hours._

* * *

 

“You sleep-stalking me now?”, Barton asked me.

 

“Something like that.” I touched Roger’s shoulder, waking him up. The others had silently agreed to let him (the man who thought parachutes are optional) talk to Barton.

 

“Clint?” His eyes snapped awake. “Hey, how you doin’?” That did not sound like a cheerful, innocent greeting in that sleep-hoarse voice and bed hair. I nudged him. He tried to look more awake. Barton snorted.

 

“I’m going to go get food. Banner should check you over.”

 

“Why hasn’t he?”, Barton asked, trying to get up, but Rogers stopped him.

 

“Doctor Banner was afraid of going green”, I answered. I left so Rogers could rant at Barton in peace. Well, I think he was going for the the ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ look instead of the ‘I’m constipated’ look.

 

I finally called Yassen. They all were fine. He understood that I was still working. That was the extent of the conversation.

 

Romanov finally showed up. I pulled her into a room, and quickly explained the situation. She got very angry, but restrained.

 

“I understand that you are mad, but dead bodies are not going to help him right now.”

 

“You sure about that?” She peered at me. “You want to kill them to, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, but if they pass through the cross examinations, I will be in charge of their re-training.”

 

“That’s not good enough!”

 

“I know. But, forcing people into your ideals is not going to help him.” She sighed and nodded. “Being mad at him isn’t going to help either.” She glared at that.

 

“He thinks I approved of this bullshit.” I couldn’t fault her bitterness but it was not helpful.

 

“Yeah, and he’s gonna go on thinking that until you teach him something different over a length of time.”

 

“I thought Coulson taught him-” She shuddered to a halt. “Thank you”, she said at last. “for protecting him.”

 

“My job to. We both should’ve seen it and I am sorry, Agent Romanov. It’s not your fault. He didn’t let you see.”

 

“Clint didn’t trust me.”

 

“He thought it was the same as flashing his underwear. It is not your fault and going in there, thinking that is going to cause more problems”, I said. She nodded and left. It was a hasty conversation, but she was eager to see Barton and I knew better than to try to stop her. I went in search of food. Banner was stress-baking in the kitchen. I nicked a muffin.

 

“You okay?”, I asked. Barton would busy for at least thirty minutes between Rogers and Romanov. I’ve _learned_ to not interrupt angry Russians.

 

“The Other Guy’s angry”, Banner said softly in the most calm voice you’ve heard. I didn’t flinch. I’ve met the Hulk. He’s less scary than you would think.

 

“Angry that Barton’s injured or . . .?” I took a bite out of the muffin (I hadn’t eaten either).

 

“Angry with me. I should have seen it. I know when people are hiding injuries.” Thor was away, dealing with that part of this was still indirectly caused by his brother. Stark was down in the Labs, bringing forth the End of Days, no doubt with Jarvis’s help. I wasn’t gonna stop him. Hell, I planned to offer tips.

 

“Alright, when was I injured and where?”, I asked reasonably.

 

“You-” I changed my step carefully, and walked over toward him, switching my walk back and forth. “I can’t tell.” He glared at me.

 

“Exactly. Barton is trained. This fuckup is not your fault. It is Shield’s. It is not even Barton’s fault.”

 

“But he thought I would be okay with it.”

 

“Yes, having poor self-appreciation is a requirement for this team.”

 

“But-”

 

“I’ll cut you a deal, you stop blaming yourself, and I’ll sign you up for Advanced Medical courses at the local hospital. They teach classes on recognizing injuries.”

 

“The whole team might want to do that”, Banner said, clenching the counter top.

 

“I’ll set it up”, I said calmly. He looked up at me with green eyes.

 

“You’re not afraid of me?”

 

I wasn’t surprised that he thought I was. I hadn’t tried to convince him differently. Generally, when people say that they’re not afraid of the giant, angry creature, they are lying. It’s better to do your damn job, and pray they catch on at some point (and possibly tell them when they can look back and know you’re not lying).

 

“No”, I said without hesitation. “I’ve always found people to be cruel. The Hulk just wants to be left in peace, most of the time. I have a more immediate rational fear that somebody’s going to file a 5364-Z instead of a 5634-Z, and get twenty people killed.”

 

“And how are you going to handle Medical?” His eyes were still a solid green. He kept clenching at the counter, trying to ground himself.

 

“I plan to unleash Captain America on them. I may also ask a friend.” Yassen would be all too happy to help. He’d been getting bored with playing housewife. “I figure between that and the others’ guerilla warfare tactics, we’ll be good.”

 

“No easy escape firing?”

 

“No. Fury’s thinking of sending them to Dhaka, Bangladesh, the worst city to live in. He googled it to make sure. He figured they could help provide the city with Shield funded aid. Humanitarian project.”

 

“Nice”, Rogers said, entering the kitchen. “She’s almost done. You used to handling this stuff?”

 

“No. Fury hired me, because he thought I would blend well, wouldn’t be afraid to go tell the World Council to go fuck themselves.” Rogers looked at me. “What? Somebody approved Medical being dickwads, I’ll bet it was them. Yes, I already called and talked to Fury. And now, I’m gonna go fed and talk to Barton.”

 

I readied a tray of food, coffee (I may have that memorized per Avenger-caffeine is wonderful), and water. Bruce came with me (ha). I put food on it for Rogers and myself.

 

Romanov came out of Barton’s room fuming.

 

“Yo, Banner, you mind taking Agent Romanov for food? She looks like she could use some food.” Banner looked at me, but I raised an eyebrow. I liked the Hulk, but I did not need him to go around smashing people in revenge. Miss Potts would not be amused at the next press conference, especially after all that time she’d spent convincing people that the Hulk is a giant green puppy.

 

Banner and Romanov left.

 

“I need somebody to be there as a witness”, I told Rogers. “Can you please do that?”

 

“Just stay silent?”, he asked.

 

“Pretty much and not get angry. Did you ask Barton anything?”

 

“No, I figured Shield would do their own investigation. We lectured on how it was wrong.” He sighed heavily. “I figure you want to question us on whether we were involved.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m gonna bet you weren’t. Barton wouldn’t have called you yesterday, and it would’ve shown in missions. Unless you think Barton’s to blame for New York?”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

“Okay, if I found out you’re lying, Captain, there will be consequences, but I believe you.”

 

Rogers followed me into Barton’s bedroom.

 

He was laying on his stomach, but tried to get up when I knocked and entered.

 

“You know I’m good, right?”

 

“I notice how you avoid using the word ‘fine’”, I snarked, setting the tray down. “Can you sit up?” He could, sitting over the side of the bed, and leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. “Swell. Bathroom?”

 

“I got it.” He trudged off, staggering slightly. Rogers raised his eyebrows, but did not motherhen. I tied my hair back. We both could hear the quiet cursing from the bathroom. Five minutes later, Barton limped back, and sat gratefully back down.

 

“Eat.” I shoved the tray at him. He hesitated. I passed a plate to Rogers, and glared at him until he started to eat. I ate as well. Barton finally began to eat. I didn’t look at Barton’s food and pretended to not notice how he kept an arm curled around his plate defensively.

 

“So?”, he asked after finishing. I reached into my bag and brought out a recorder. “Really?” He stopped himself, before he gave away more self-esteem issues.

 

“Barton, people hurt you physically, on Shield property, which means that I need a statement. Anything you say will only be heard by yourself, the Captain, me, Fury, and possibly the World Council. Somebody else can do this statement, if you prefer. Rogers can leave the room, if you prefer.”

 

“What’s going to happen?”

 

“Interview about the past six months, psych eval that I am certified to do, full body scan to cross-reference injuries. We can do this anywhere you want” I met his eyes squarely. I back down on a lot of things, but not this.

 

“Okay, what about Jarvis?”, he said after a moment.

 

“All footage will be flagged as high security. While I can not prevent Mr. Stark from viewing, you have my guarantee that nobody besides him will be able to. Mr. Stark processes the capabilities to hack any surveillance cameras in Shield, and in the city.”

 

“Right”, Barton muttered darkly. “Disadvantages of having Tony as a friend. Fine.”

 

“This recording will be admitted in the case against those medical personnel if you agree.”

 

“So, I don’t need to?”, Barton asked.

 

“No.” Rogers kicked me. “I am bound to report a crime if it has taken place. If you do not press charges then I will still report that Medical is out of line, and there will still be proof other than your details, but their punishment will be reduced. It will also not prevent your teammates from taking action. However, I will respect your judgment, and keep my silence in your part of this.”

 

“But I will still be evaluated?”

 

“Yes, because Shield is concerned that you were abused and was able to not report it.”

 

“I give consent for the interview, and submission of the interview. Pending on the exam.”

 

“Okay. You may be called to give a live testimony that you can refused to give.” He nodded. I got out the stack of paperwork that Fury had sent men, and I’d printed. I turned the recorder on.

 

“When did Medical start harassing you?”, I asked.

 

“Define harassment.”

 

“Any change in their behavior.”

 

“After Loki.”

 

“How did it start?”

 

“They denied medical care for non-vital injuries, because they said ‘that medical care was reserved for actual Shield agents, not mind controlled puppets.’”

 

“What injuries did they deny treatment for?”

 

“They denied treatment for-” He tensed, finally meeting my eyes.

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“Concussions, contusions, bruises, anything that required less than ten stitches.” Rogers looked like he was about to cry.

 

The interview went on like that. Barton had been refused treatment on twenty-six different occasions, suffered verbal abuse, and suffered strenuous, unnecessary medical procedures. They did not actually cause injuries, because they knew that would be taking it too far. Barton is not an idiot. After a good thirty minutes, I got to the point where I requested that Rogers leave. He did so understandingly.

 

“I need to ask you about your relationship with the Avengers.” He looked angry. “Have they ever insinuated that you were responsible for any of terrorist actions that took place in New York during Loki’s invasion or the defence of New York?”

 

“No.” He wasn’t lying as far as I could tell.

 

“Are you sure? Because I swear that your answer does not go further than this room, and I will respond no differently to the Avengers, but steps will be taken.”

 

“They are my family, and none of them have implied any of that bullshit!” Barton glared at me.

 

“Alright.” I clicked off the recorder. “Thank you.” He nodded shortly.

 

“The psych eval?”, he asked warily. I grinned at him.

 

“That got completed during the interview. Far as I can tell, you’re not suicidal, depressed possibly, but not a danger to yourself or your team so-you pass technically. I would recommend counseling, but you do seem to value yourself so it is debatable.”

 

“How?”

 

“I think you value yourself because Shield values you so if Shield thinks you’re an asshole . . .”

 

“Right. Not good.” I shook my head in agreement. “Have any good recomendations?”

 

“Yeah. Outside of Shield too.” I hadn’t been asleep for those four hours, you know. I put the paperwork back in my bag and the recorder away. I stood up, swinging the bag around my shoulder. “Come on, time for naked photos.” I levied him off the bed, and helped him out of the room.

  
*To be continued*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://wondersonder.wordpress.com/2013/09/08/why-dhaka-deserves-to-be-called-the-most-unlivable-city-in-the-world/ This talks about Dhaka and why it does need aid, and about why it is a suitable punishment. I did my research, alright. And yeah, Shield should actually be doing something to help.
> 
> Once again (to little surprise) I’m writing way past my bedtime. You wouldn’t sleep either with the possibility of bugs and just-yeah, there’s a reason why I can write somniphobia (casually has a dyslexic moment and attempts to spell it as ‘somnophilia’ *facepalms so hard*) so well. It’s okay, I got like fourteen hours of sleep before posting this.
> 
> When you go try to look at crappy apartments online, and realize that people do not understand poor living situations. If you have a washer, it does not count (unless there’s a bug infestation but even then). And I know that Felix’s apartment is not that bad. I HAVE DONE THE HORRID RESEARCH.
> 
> Long chapter, because people were nice and reviewed. See folks? If you’re nice and talk to me, I tell you things and discuss future plot. Yeah. Positive reinforcement. Of course, I am still evil, and cut it off before Medical gets punished. This is, in part, for several reasons:
> 
> 1\. I don’t like writing more than 8 pages per chapter, because it can get rough for me to edit (dyslexia and impatient with no beta does not equal awesome)
> 
> 2\. I need to do this properly. Felix is not Ash Cassidy who takes care of things in quiet ways (ironically, I try to not support vigilantees). So that means that everything does need to be documented so it never happens again.
> 
> Felix is a grammar geek, and I can feel (imagine) her judgement and comments as I write this. That does not stop the mistakes, sorry.
> 
> Kingsman is awesome. Rewatching it, and it is brilliant.


	19. Murder is not acceptable (but we try to hard)

Last Time: _I put the paperwork back in my bag and the recorder away. I stood up, swinging the bag around my shoulder. “Come on, time for naked photos.” I levied him off the bed, and helped him out of the room._

* * *

 

Rogers and I got him down to Stark’s labs. Oddly, we saw nobody. I made a mental note to talk to Stark. Stark had a lot of medical equipment for a normal person.

 

Barton stripped and hopped up on the metal lab table. Rogers leaned against a wall as I took the scans, and printed them out.

 

“You mind me checking the stitches?”  
  


“You just examined my ball size.” I raised an eyebrow (I hadn’t examined his size for the record, perverted shippers). “Fine.” Barton pulled back on his pair of sweatpants. “Don’t you scans for this?”

 

“Yes, but I want to see the difference between the surface and interior of your back.” Barton leaned forward, bracing himself on the lab table. I pulled up the scan and placed it next parallel to him. Rogers walked over, and looked at it.

 

“So, I’m fine?”, Barton asked.

 

“Yeah, I just wanted to re-bandage.” Rogers watched as I undid  the bandages.

 

“You’re good at this”, Rogers said. I nodded. I was good.“Why not-?”

 

“-Do it then?”, I asked. I grimaced. Trust, this whole thing had been me asking Barton to trust me, against his better judgement. “I used to run Spec Ops for England”, I started. Fury had given me permission to say what I wanted to about my past job experience.

 

“A man gave me a very well founded fear of doctors and hospitals. I can work on people, because I have to. But I still don’t like hospitals or doctors very much.” I didn’t meet Rogers eyes, but he looked at me. WWII was big on doctors doing terrible things.

 

“But you’re fine here?”, Rogers asked.

 

“Yeah, kind of like meditation to me”, I said, trying to shrug it off, but I know that you do not underestimate Captain America. Do you want me to wrap anything else up?”, I asked Barton. He shook his head.

 

“So this whole thing is personal for you?”, Barton asked me. Apparently, you don’t shrug off Hawkeye either.

 

“Yes, because whether or not you particularly like me or trust me, you are my team.” I was firm on this. This whole mess was not caused by my issues. I am not defined by my past (or future if we’re going all cliched here). I would’ve reacted the same six years ago (well, people might be more dead).

 

I spun away, and started cleaning down the equipment. “Ah, you’re fine by the way”, I said, slightly joking.

 

“Thanks. For what’s it worth, ma’am, you’re a good handler and a good doctor”, Barton said softly. I didn’t turn back toward him.

 

“Thanks. Go, shoo”, I said finally. “I need to give the report to Director.” They left.

 

I sighed heavily, and sat down, leaning against the wall.

 

“Mister Jarvis?”

 

“Yes?”, asked the British AI.

 

“Could you please send all the files to Director Fury?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“You know, Mister Jarvis, this was not your fault, yes?”

 

“But it is your then?”

 

“Touché”, I said. “But I don’t have super high tech scanners, and a metaphorical brain the size of a shopping mall. I won’t have a depressed operating system, Mr. Jarvis.” I stood up, dusted off my pants (more out of habit than anything), and took my backpack.

 

“No, ma’am”, he said snarkily. I grinned at the open air. “You can stop calling me ‘mister’ if you would prefer it?”

 

“Only if you call me ‘Felix’ instead of ‘ma’am’”, I said without hesitation. Yes, Jarvis is designed by Stark (and could be reporting back to him), but Jarvis makes his own decisions. Maybe I’ll always be a sucker for a smart-ass operating system.

 

“All right, Felix.”

 

“Thanks. So, what’s the chance that they’re all plotting murder?”

 

“Feeling like a kindergarten teacher?”

 

“Yes, yes I am.” I jogged up the steps. I’m pretty sure that Jarvis was laughing at me internally while plotting murder, and sounding like a bad thriller. I entered the main floor kitchen, and they were all there, grouped around the table. “You murdering folk is going to make my job extremely difficult”, I announced loudly. They all looked up.

 

“So, don’t murder people?”, Stark asked cautiously.

 

“Don’t murder medical.”

 

“Why?”, Banner asked me.

 

“Because it teaches nobody. It makes this whole thing one of those shadowy things, and then somebody’s going to mess with one of you, and I don’t want to deal with the paperwork you repeatedly murdering people.”

 

“So you want a public trial where you scare everybody off with the paperwork that would be involved?”, Barton asked, because he was definitely part of the conversation. We are all fucked up, but we do know the right thing sometimes. The trick is to act on it.

 

“Yeah. I mean, I’m with you. Nothing sends a message like shooting somebody’s face off.” They sort of stared at me. Yeah, people underestimate me. They haven’t see me incidentally take out SAS soldiers.

 

“Have experience with that?”, Romanov asked me.

 

“There was a thing involving a chef who really wanted my pasta recipe.” It was the most obvious lie that I could tell, since I really can’t boil water. “Look, I don’t care what you do to them as long as they can still show up to the trial under their own power.” I unzipped my bag, and pulled out a moleskine notebook (somethings need to be completely unhackable). “This contains about twenty years worth of guerilla warfare pranks designed to really annoy your enemy.” I threw it at Captain America. He stared at me, but caught it. “Plausible deniability. Don’t tell me, because I won’t be able to bullshit an alibi.”

 

I don’t know much about family anymore, but I do know that you don’t go after it. Especially when the person’s family has a history of destroying people.

 

I nodded in the silence. “I’m gonna go. The trial isn’t set yet, but, it should be within the week.” I left, but my hands weren’t shaking for once.

 

Maybe they don’t like me, but it was still my job to protect them (kinda the theme of this story if you haven’t gotten it yet). And yeah, it’s not my fault that they’re fucked up, but it still sucks.

 

When I was safely back in my apartment, I opened up my laptop on the living room table. Sometimes, I love that I was a hacker for a long time. How do you think I paid for medical school? Scholarships were used up by then, so. . . I kept some of the programs because they are a work of art. I set up a hack to run on Shield security systems.

 

“How’s work?”, Rider asked me, speaking to me for the first time since Brecon Beacons.

 

“Interesting, how’s homeschool?”, I asked. Rider was studying for his GED, because it could prove useful.

 

“Good. Are you going to teach me what you’re doing?”

 

“Yeah, come here.” I flipped open another laptop (always carry two laptops because the first one will get shot), and turned it  around so he could see, and opened up another program. “This works like a computer game. You unlock levels by getting the code right.”

 

“And the goal is what? I become a fairy princess at the end?”

 

“No, you access everything MI6 has on your father.” I met his eyes cooly. “Rule one on teaching Rider, positive reinforcement.”

 

“You’re psychotic”, he whispered. I smiled at him, and hid the pain.

 

“It’s how I learned. I deviced the program to teach Yassen how to hack better. I think he’s still working on one for teaching me how to cook.”

 

“I am”, Yassen said loudly. “You can make a total of three things: coffee, tea, and breakfast.”

 

“Hey, I can bake, okay. I can even make gluten free butterscotch cookies, bitch.”

 

“Sure you can”, he said smirking. “You going to want my help with the Thing?”

 

“Maybe. Can you do a Batman impersonation?” He merely grinned at me. Rider stared at us. “That game has thirty-six levels on it”, I informed him. Rider groaned, and left for his room with the laptop.

 

“That’s all he can do on that, right?”, Yassen asked curiously.

 

I shrugged, “Positive reinforcement. If he makes it past the program, the next challenge is hacking all the controls.” Yassen stares at me.

 

“I forget that you are evil.” He looked impressed. “I taught you well.” He grinned.

 

I grinned back at him. “How goes the lessons?” Yassen had started to set up small traps specifically for Rider.

 

“I think he’s scared to shower now.” The traps had to be non-dangerous to anyone’s health, incase Jamie got it, and they had to be set up fast so Jamie didn’t get it. Eventually, Yassen had simply asked the kid to help. The combination of a six-year old with sharpies and glitter should scare you as much as nuclear annihilation. Trust me.

 

“See, there’s like an epic joke about masterbation somewhere there”, I said softly, so Jamie wouldn’t hear.

 

“Hmm, do it often?”, Yassen muttered back. I nearly choked. There are Reasons why that joke is so much worse than you know.

 

“I-evil troll.”

 

“Come on, you can work tomorrow.” Yassen grabbed me, and practically dragged me to bed.

 

I remember saying, “all you had to do was ask” and his reply of “tried it. Drugs work better.”

 

Burk dossed my tea.

 

* * *

 

Around five am, Shield went completely crazy.

 

Around 2:45am, my hack finally got through. Hey, ancient programs, and this is not like in those damn movies about spy games and Shield has some security (that I should update because it was sort of embarrassing).

 

By 4:45am, I executed my plan. I tagged all the medical staff with the Asshole song by Jimmy Buffett so it would play from their phone, and the speaker system every time they entered a room or opened their mouth (yes, this would be a problem with eating and speaking). The song wouldn’t stop until they went away, and would continue to go off at random moments when they were in their quarters (they were on probation for the moment). I changed their key-card codes (so it would come up as a different gender, race, and name), and also reported them to the FBI and CIA (both organizations hate Shield).

 

I fell back asleep with the knowledge that I am an evil mastermind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix is picky about family and informality. Her thing with Yassen is complicated but they are not an item.
> 
> How stressed out am I about exams? I can’t sleeeeeep. *groans* Stress-binging on fanfiction.
> 
> Also, my ‘wonderful’ Windows (PC stands for Personal Computer so stop applying it to just Windows) has developed an addiction to the bluescreen.
> 
> A lot of the hinting about past things is deliberate (not planned-mind, I don’t do planned), but there is a purpose. I’ve always thought that people who suffer cruelty are the ones who stand up to it. Yeah, I am a comic-nerd, but I am, first, a Tamora Pierce nerd and Robin Hood nerd, thank you.
> 
> Also, bookbinding is AWESOME. (what have you been doing for the past few days? Studying? Updating fanfiction? Nope, reading and learning bookbinding.) I’m a nerd and am picky about office supplies.
> 
> Go look up “I’m not the one” Bucky and Natasha on youtube. Yeah, it’s awesome.
> 
> Challenge: Leave the best, most socially awkward things you can say upon meeting somebody for the first time.


	20. Trial (aka Steve Rogers is troll)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three_patch_problem10 is being very very kind and started to beta this fic so that's why there's changes to an already posted chapter.

Last Time: _I fell back asleep with the knowledge that I am an evil mastermind._

* * *

It took five days for Medical to break, crack, and pop like bubble wrap or rice krispies. There was a buildup to it.

 

Stark made everything explode. Everytime he walked into Shield, desks would combust like a damn sprinkler system. And speaking of the sprinkler system: don’t. The sprinkler system had been replaced with acidic rain. Fury started getting a tick right under his eyepatch so it kept moving the eyepatch in a circular movement. Once, Fury opened his mouth, but closed it sharply. Barton was his agent, after all, and we could punish where he couldn’t.

 

Bruce entered Shield on the second day. He walked around in only green body paint with green contacts. He said nothing, opened nothing, just quietly stalked medical. Medical quickly developed a fear of anything green.

 

Stark fucked Medical digitally. He ruined their bank accounts, put them on every hit list (including criminal ones), got their cars crushed by the local auto place. Then, got them listed on every single porn site, pervert warning site, and banked their accounts by using their credit cards to order Captain America blow up dolls and a lot of lube and condoms. Each doll was accompanied by its own personal ‘you don’t deserve this, but you should practice for prison’ note, and delivered publically.

 

Romanov dressed up in a Batman costume, and threw knives at them for three straight days, before Fury called her off after one of them pissed their pants. I told Yassen, and then quickly made a mental note to never introduce them, because he sighed like he was in love. Russians.

 

Barton didn’t do anything. He didn’t leave Avenger Tower. I don’t think he really got why everybody was pissed. I left it well alone. I had the vague, misplaced impression that the rest of the team would handle it.

 

No, what really broke them was the combination of Rogers and Thor.

 

Everybody has that mental image that Thor and Rogers are these larger than life figures who don’t know things, especially personal things, like STIs. Bear that in mind for this.

 

So, Steve runs into Medical naked, covered in a rash, freaking the hell out. Now, Medical isn’t allowed to lay their hands on anybody but they still need to be on call in case of emergencies.

 

So, Rogers comes running in, freaking out, panting for breath, clutching at his balls.

 

I was sitting at home, with my laptop, because Rogers had texted me ahead of time to tune in. I love that man; it is a crime to not love Steve Rogers on some level. I may have hacked the government after that day.

 

The medical staff run up to Rogers, all superior because he had shouted at them, and now needed their help. He had this wonderful blush, and yes, it goes full-body.

 

“My hands-they’re stuck-and-VD?” He had this puppy dog expression.

 

“Captain, I need you to remove your hands.”

 

“I can’t,” he snapped. I motioned at Yassen and Rider. I covered Jamie’s eyes.

 

“Alright, can you? How did this happen?” one doctor asked.

 

“There was a scientist, and he-”, Rogers began in an innocent voice (his voice is always so innocent).

 

“No, what caused the rash?”- and right on cue, Thor came flying (feet off the ground) into Medical.

 

He slammed into the Head Doctor, and yes, he was also completely naked. Sometimes, I love my life. Rogers winked at the camera. I snorted messily.

 

Thor and Rogers ran Medical ragged. Thor had the same rash on his ass, and they got Medical to believe that they had sex, and contracted some kind of alien STI (It was actually a form of alien body paint). I will never ever forget forget people freaking out over having to explain what an STI is to Captain ‘the virgin’ America.

 

Yassen was crying from laughter by the end of it. Rider may or may not have been hanging off him, wheezing in and out. It took them thirty minutes to unstick Rogers’s hands from his balls. And the rash went in all the cracks. All of them.

 

Twenty minutes after the Terribles left, they all reported to Fury’s office and pleaded guilty. I’m still not entirely sure that they understood the whole ‘Steve Rogers is not a moron and can access google and tinder’ thing.

 

Fury did not fire them, or suspend them. No, that would make it easy for them. He didn’t even order the Avengers to stop harassing Medical. Yeah, he knew when he fucked up and he had no sympathy for himself or Medical. But hey, they did crack.

 

The actual trial happened on the sixth day, because Fury knew that if this went on much longer, somebody would be cleaning bodies off the streets. It went spectacularly well. Not.

 

* * *

 

“Agent Ubiquesta, could you justify your past in ten words or less?” the lawyer asked. Medical had a lawyer, of course they did.

 

“How is this relevant?” I asked, behind the legitimate stand. It was a court case involving the whole setup you see in the movies. The only thing different was that everybody here had served Shield in some capacity. Double edged sword that.

 

“I want to give the council an accurate representation of your character.” The Avengers were all sitting at the very front. Rogers raised his eyebrows at me. They had made me swear on a Bible that I would ‘tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth’, and I hadn’t bothered to ask what if I didn’t believe in the Bible.

 

“I was a double-agent for MI6. Nine words,” I said, counting it out on my fingers. I internally debated how polite it would be if I stabbed the defense attorney with my high heels.

 

“Do you have any relevant questions, councilor?” the prosecutor asked.

 

“Describe your relations with the Avengers, specifically Agent Barton.”

 

“Good,” I said carefully, not knowing where she was going with this.

 

“Hmm, do you care for Agent Barton?” Oh, give me a damn break. Does everything need to be shipped?

 

“I am a doctor,” I said calmly, not letting my anger show. “I do not have any romantic feelings for Barton or any of my teammates. I am not affected by my past in medical decisions, and while I am not shocked that you would imply that I am emotionally unstable, I am shocked that you would imply that my emotions impact my decisions, because of your past crimes, including drug use. And I understand that you are supposed to question my motives because it is your job, but is my job to keep my team safe. Any further questions, councilor?”

 

“Describe the events of the past five days, and the harassment of Medical,” she demanded. The drug history should not surprise you, since nobody would protect doctors who harm their patients. John Adams would throw his hands up and call it wrong.

 

“I have taken no part in the harassment of Medical. Actually, I’m not sure about the ongoings of Medical, since I have not set foot on Shield property since seven days ago.”

 

“So you have taken no part in the harassment of my clients?”

 

“None,” I said easily. Yeah, about that Bible thing . . .spend a couple years with Scorpia. Besides, I thought the ‘harassment’ was more like justice. You need to be careful with the lies that you tell, but truth rarely saves anybody. Hell, setting somebody free just means that they are no longer caged but this is no place for a philosophical argument.

 

“Hmm. . . so the hacking of Shield security?”

 

“Objection!” the prosecutor said. “Proof?”

 

“Past history,” the defendant said.

 

“Objection sustained,” the presiding judge stated.

 

It basically went like that. The defendant kept calling up my past, and invalidate my decisions. Luckily, everybody called bullshit on that. All the Avengers got called up to the stand. It was a very good thing that I take a gray area on crimes involving naked super soldiers and the perjury they commit.

 

No, it got nasty when Barton was called. They grilled him on past actions with Loki, the Avengers, and past interactions with Medical. The man came out of it looking like he went ten rounds with Thor.

 

The jury already had a copy of my report, and the interview, but they still went over every goddamn detail. So, I was surprised at the verdict. I can’t tell you everything, because most of the record is not public, and honestly, it’s not my story. I really shouldn't have said this much, but you know the value of secrets (rich and dark like chocolate).

 

Medical was deemed guilty, and I thanked my luck for that. Romanov would’ve killed them. I wouldn’t have helped, because some things you gotta handle yourself.

 

The Medical Chief got the worst punishment. He was shipped off to Antarctica to be retrained (possibly murdered). Medical was split up, and sent all over the world and slammed down to probationary level. They would be evaluated by their COs daily, me monthly, and Charles Xavier bi-monthly for at least six months.

 

It’s a bitch to fire medical personnel, because they have access to classified documents and Shield agents. But it would be done if there was no improvement. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over the hell that medical would endure over the next six months. Nobody likes somebody who hurts people for no good reason, and Jarvis can extend past borders.

 

We all walked out of that courtroom like badasses. I really wanted to go home, strip off the monkey suit, take a hot shower, and sleep. Barton and the others were aggressively anxious. Stark kept prancing in place, and fiddling with his phone. Banner and the others kept moving like cliched predators.

 

I waited until we were back in Stark’s limo to ask, “Do you have a gym or something?”

 

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

 

“I need to blow off some steam. Up for it?” All of them were rearing for a fight. I swear to god that this whole team thing was starting to feel like a bad porno from the BDSM section.

 

“Yeah,” Rogers said. “Might be a good idea. If you can handle it?” I didn’t bother to answer. I did text Yassen that court went well, but I would be home late. Same ol’ same ol’. Ice really was becoming my wife that I ignored for work. Guh.

 

Thirty minutes later, we were all in the gym in sweats. I always keep at least two extra sets of clothes in briefcases (sweats, jeans, underwear, and shirts). I wore the loose sweats and my 'Keep calm, McKay will fix it" shirt that I'd borrowed from Yassen. I stretched and yawned.  Romanov kept staring at me. I did a couple of practice flips, breaking out of them quickly. Tiny apartment=no sparing in the past week.

 

The SAS is not big on back flips. Scorpia teaches flips to get people to control themselves in the air, to get over the fear of falling, and how to break a free fall or stunt move.

 

I let out a long groan after a couple minutes. In free fall, you can’t worry about anything besides how you’re going to land. Meditative.

 

Stark stared at me as I came out of the last flip. “What the hell? Is that normal?”

 

“You’ve met the Russians, haven’t you?”, Barton asked me suspiciously. I grinned at him. He made the come on hand gesture at me. I grinned and easily faked and flipped him.

 

“Y’all gonna pair up or what?”, I asked the others. Natasha hit me from behind. I ducked, rolled, and kicked her in the stomach, flipping her. 90% of physics need not apply. I flipped over Rogers’ shoulder, ruffling his hair. He laughed, and tossed me into Thor.

 

I untangled myself and stood up. “Seriously, Rogers and Thor, Stark and Banner, Barton and Romanov.” They divided up. I watched as they practiced. Stark and Banner had no fucking clue what to do. The assassins were too used to each other, and so were Thor and Rogers. I gave them another five minutes before I split them up. “Rogers and Romanov, Thor and Barton”, I called. They divided up again. It was even. I gestured at Banner and Stark to stop.

 

“So neither of you ever really threw a punch, have you?” I asked simply. They shook their heads. “Right. Wrap your fingers, thumb on the outside, hit with the back knuckles, and keep your wrist protected.” I ran them through some basic katas with systema. Systema punches move in a weird figure circular motion and flow more than head on boxing.

 

“Come here,” I told Banner.

 

“How do you know that I won’t . . .?”

 

“I trust you to know your limits.” I flipped him carefully. Stark threw a punch at me, but I kicked him lightly (lightly okay) in the balls. Stark caught my leg, and jerked me down.

 

It went on like that. It might have dissolved into a wrestling puppy pile. Finally, Rogers wolf-whistled at us. I stood up, pulling up Banner and Stark behind me. Banner had learned some tai chi, along with the breathing exercises.

 

“Where did you learn that style?” Romanov stared at me.

 

“Classified,” I replied easily.

 

“Spetsnaz?” Barton asked.

 

“Disney Land,” I said at last. I couldn’t even hint at Russia or Scorpia. I like these guys, but it is not my secrets I worry over. “Showers”, I suggested lightly.

 

Barton caught me changing. He turned away while I put on clothes. I didn’t say anything when he turned back around.

 

“Why? Like I get that medical fucked up and it’s wrong, okay. The team’s been kicking my ass for the past week about that, but why go and make such a big deal over it?”

 

“Brainwashing is common, Barton, between Hydra, aliens, and crime organizations. I need to know that if anybody gets brainwashed again, they won’t be abused by their comrades.” You need to be a level four to access my tragic backstory.

 

“So what, this is just a job to you?” Stark asked, because you know, codependency and stalking.

 

“I like you people, but yeah, it’s a job, Stark. I get paid, like you do.” I don’t have many morals (well, that’s probably a lie), but you don’t lie to your team unless it is to protect them, and then you lie like a badass.

 

“So we’re just another job to you?” Romanov asked. Well, I’m fucked no matter what.

 

“I owe Fury a debt, so no, not another job to me. Anyway, I like you people.” I was damn careful to not say that they wouldn’t be boring or that it was a tough job. Low self-esteem was a requirement for this team after all.

 

“As fucked up as we are?” Stark asked loudly.

 

“Yes,” I said firmly. “And now, I’m gonna go home and sleep for several hours.” I grabbed my briefcase (court called for the big guns). They let me go without another word. Separation of church and state and all that.

 

I think it would’ve continued like that except that Stark tried to be nice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve does me proud and earns that Mature rating. Like at this point, I really want to rate it R for his ass alone. You should be glad that Felix is closed off, because this would be rated explicit. You do not know half the shit that went on in Italy. Like some of that almost got included, but the 'you must be a level four friend to access my tragic backstory' thing happened instead. I kinda borrowed that from the Internet. Anyone who wants the credit for that, gets it, because it is awesome.
> 
> I did seventeen lessons in one day, ha, caw caw motherfucker.
> 
> Actually, the sex doll was popularized by Hitler. Yep. He gave it to soldiers. ‘Kill people in horrible, awful ways, but have a sex doll’.
> 
> Rape is not something to joke about, and Stark does it, because if he doesn’t know the horribleness of it and can’t make fun of it, who can?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0hVSOpUpaaM like you can not watch that and then say that Steve is not a troll. Like I dare you.
> 
> I am so damn proud of myself right now. Like hahahahahahaha, motherfuckers. I can’t tell you why yet, but know that it is awesome, and there are reasons for the pronoun usage. Well, my idea is one possible solution and I don’t have the details worked out, because I have given up trying to control my characters or predict them.
> 
> They have 'on your left' tank-top. *fangirls* Felix's shirt is a reference to Stargate Atlantis, because I could see Yassen getting all sassy over it and Felix freaking out over the physic mistakes. Although, SA is awesome when you understand the physic jokes and references so ha. Every single episode, the other characters are like "we have five minutes or we all die, Rodney, go fix it" and he's like "what the hell?!", and fixes all the things.
> 
> Please tell me when you don't understand the references, okay, please?


	21. Yassen is a Troll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all give a round of applause for three_path_problem10, because they are wonderful and waded in and dealt with grammar and plot issues.

Last Time:  _Separation of church and state and all that._

_I think it would’ve continued like that except that Stark tried to be nice._

 

* * *

 

The next day, around 7pm, somebody knocked on the apartment door. Jamie and Rider darted toward their bedroom, since it had a fire escape. Yassen got down behind the fridge in the kitchen. We all were armed (excluding Jamie, come on guys).

 

I got in front of the door. I could hear the pasta boiling over in the kitchen. I breathed slowly and checked the peephole.

 

It was goddamn fucking Stark and Rogers. I snarled under my breath, muttered five different curses mentally, and stuck the gun in the back of my pants with the safety on (which is a dumbass move, but I am fine with my dumb paperpusher appearance, thank you).

 

I opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, closing the door, and leaned against it. “What’s going on, guys?” Pasta was gonna be burnt at this point, along with the cookies. Damn.

 

“Checking out the neighborhood,” Stark said, stepping up into my space. I didn’t move.

 

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Rogers asked, giving me that ‘I stand for American Pie, goddamnit’ look.

 

I smiled lazily. “No.” Yassen wrapped the door from inside. In, he tapped out in Morse code. “Come on in,” I said politely, opening the door. If Yassen wanted to risk his identity than it is not my affair. I am not his wife nor mother.

 

Rogers and Stark trailed in.

 

“So you’re married?” Stark asked, looking Yassen over. Yassen nearly groaned. He bit his tongue instead. Two years of reading him told me that much. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he only shrugged.

 

“No. Flatshare,” I said.

 

“Want to stay for dinner?” Yassen asked, not bothering to introduce himself.

 

“Steve Rogers.” The Captain stuck his hand out. Yassen shook it. He shook hands with Stark as well.

 

“Yassen Gregorovich.” I kicked him sharply at his apparent loss of sanity.

 

“You need to trust them a little more,” He told me in Russian.

 

“Yeah, and now, you’re going to tell them that you’ve murdered people, right?” I snapped in Russian. We’d been sticking to English for Rider’s benefit. He’d been getting drilled by Yassen for the past two weeks. He rolled his eyes at me.

 

“Secret identity?” Rogers looked awkward.

 

“Something like that. Retired spy. Are you really doing this?” I growled at Ice. He shrugged at me.

 

“Romanov will recognize me if she sees me. What if you get injured and end up in Shield, and I want to give you flowers?” I glared at him, because no, that is not in Russian.

 

“I used to work for Scorpia, which is sort of the Italian version of Hydra. Actually, they work together on a lot of things. Felix convinced me to go straight.”

 

Well, that is technically correct. I sighed. “Yo, Rider?” I called. He came out with Jamie.

 

“So, you don’t actually go home, plug in and power off?” Stark asked. I think he didn’t know what Scorpia was.

 

“I only need to once a week, Stark. Newest model. You gonna save the pasta?” Yassen went to do that.

 

“Alex.” Steve, Stark, Rider, and Jamie went through all the handshakes and shit. I looked over Yassen’s shoulder at the pasta.

 

“Take-out?” I asked sweetly, taking out my batch of perfectly baked cookies. He glared at me. I smirked and dialed the number for the place two streets over. I said I could bake, and I really can.

 

Twenty minutes later, Stark popped the question.

 

“Do you want to move into the Tower?” I stared at him.

 

“I thought I was the enemy?” I set down my chopsticks.

 

“You went to bat for us,” Rogers said carefully. Yassen kicked me. I kicked back, but he kept kicking my right leg.

 

“Okay, talk this out for me, please. You want me to live in the Tower . . .?”

 

“Along with your family,” Rogers said. I looked at Yassen. Scorpia could find us at any time.

 

“Scorpia has a price on all of our heads.” I hate this. No, I really really hate this. I hate bringing other people into my problems. It’s rude.

 

“They’re like Hydra?” Rogers looked intently at me.

 

“What did you do to piss them off?” Stark. Always asking the important questions.

 

“Classified,” I said at last. There wasn’t really a good answer to that. Yassen rolled his eyes at me. Hypocrite.

 

“We all have enemies,” Rogers said. I snorted at him. “Felix, we trust you.”

 

“Thank you. I will need to talk it over with Yassen.” He stared at me. I really don’t know why he liked the Avengers. I hadn’t really talked any of it over with him, but he was an expert hacker.

 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Ice said. We’re going to have a talk about him being a giant hypocrite about trusting people.

 

“How would it work?” I asked Stark.

 

“You would get a floor. Three bedrooms is the max right now, but it's all negotiable.” He pulled out a Stark Tablet and some schematics.

 

“Right,” I said. “We need to talk about Medical. You are still going to get injured, so more important is if you have a well supplied medical wing. I emailed Fury, and he sent me a list of recommendations.”

 

“Okay.” Rogers kept watching Rider who had taken out the laptop again. “Uh, why is he running code?”

 

“That's an excellent question. Yassen?”

 

“Felix likes to think that if you're going to commit a crime, you should be able to erase all footage.”

 

Stark looked over at the laptop.“But that's a level ten encryption. You designed this?” He asked Rider.

 

“Felix did.”

 

“What?” Stark snatched the laptop, staring at the different game levels.

 

The game is a spy world where the player has to constantly direct their character through code. The missions get more complex, and the code gets more complex. It worked like codecombat, but more applicable to real life (and you know, free and not a dick about shit). Although, I really should add magic.

 

“I paid for medical school through programming,” I explained, stealing one of Yassen's cookies. Serves him right.

 

“I-if I wasn't already-if Pepper wasn't- when did you create this?” Stark looked like a kid in a candy shop.

 

“A couple of years ago. I wanted people to be able to learn code without having to get stuck on math.” I did adapt it some for Yassen, but it was the same base idea.

 

“Why are you doing paperwork when you could create computer miracles?”

 

“There was a thing with the Irish mob in England, where my employer used my code to steal money from a rival mob in America.” And then, I had to hack everybody involved, and erase the whole thing from MI6. I wasn't really stupid enough to hack MI6 because I was bored. 'If you're going to be bad, be bad with purpose'. Like hacking into TV networks to watch vampire shows aimed at fourteen year olds. Yassen is a TV whore.

 

“I-Can I steal you?” Stark had little emoticon hearts in his eyes. Rider hissed under his breath.

 

“I'd work for free. How'd you solve the ethical issues with Jarvis?”

 

“Drunk programming and a British accent.”

 

“That would do it.” I pulled my mind back on track. “So, medical? I figured I'd do the initial hiring and training and you have the final say?”

 

“Sounds good.” Rogers kept glancing at my hands. Tiny scars whipped across the backs. “Are you going to be okay with . . .?”

 

“Yeah. Won't be a problem.”

 

“I'll send you the plans.” Stark stood up, followed by Rogers.

 

I showed them out, and shut the door.

 

“I think this whole thing is a good idea for you,” Yassen said, because he spent twenty plus years being serious when he's secretly a giant troll.

 

To be continued

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was planned around six months ago. One day guys, I will get money for having a crazy brain. It’s hard writing this, because I wrote it when it was still Ash Cassidy, and Felix is screaming at me “WHY THE HELL WOULD I INTRODUCE THE AVENGERS TO AN INTERNATIONALLY WANTED CRIMINAL? Seriously.”So yes, Yassen is slightly out of character, but he plays the long game of ‘Felix is gonna be stupid and do stupid shit trust me’ side of things. And yeah, Felix prefers a separation of church and state.
> 
> I did my research on British education, and I really feel bad for England right now. Americans can take the SATs as much as they want. Concrete room + test that decides your future + no retakes = my sympathy.
> 
> I know basic Java (and some Python because I cheat). So very very basic, and trust me, the math gets confusing very quickly when you apply code to actual math problems. Let's count that as research. I've done some games, and trust me, you will never understand the horribleness of Adobe Flash when applied to creating pong. Especially if your teacher's code is fucked so being in your fourth month of using Flash and any code, you have to fix his. And he re-teaches it every single year. I still don't understand how that happened, even with the Flash updates. I will always automatically dis Adobe for it, because it is a horrible way to design games. You can not say that my notes are not educational.
> 
> I have a terrible habit of telling my readers everything they need to know or foreshadowing like there ain't no tomorrow (ha, paradoxes, Arthur eats them for breakfast).
> 
> Yes, I quoted Vampire Diaries, because that is the truest statement ever. I will never not love Sebastian Stan's sassy face, and that he knows what the left boob grab is and was like “Oh yeah, of course he's done it to me”. Sorry, I get all my news 6 months later than everybody. In defense of my research skills, I had the knowledge and power to incorporate Alan Turing into my US History Essay. Yup. Because it was all 'Who did you learn about this year?' And my answer: A British genius.
> 
> There are Reasons why Darcy is not in this yet. Be patient children. I have Plans (muse: in the corner I will fuck the plans up, don't worry).


	22. Steve Rogers vs the 21st Century

Last Time: _“I think this whole thing is a good idea for you,” Yassen said, because he spent twenty plus years being serious when he's secretly a giant troll._

* * *

 

The Ten things I learned from living with the Avengers:

  1. The combination of Stark and Rogers will end in tears for everyone (mostly because Stark and the rest of the Avengers don't understand how hard Steve will troll).

  2. Banner has low self-esteem.

  3. Barton loves his arrows and he has several (don't ask about the boomerang).

  4. Romanov likes her Game of Thrones.

  5. Thor will use the hammer if he thinks you deserve it (the toilet seat, people).

  6. Rogers likes X-Box, don't ask me why, but he will stomp you in HALO, and any other video game. Stark hates this.

  7. Barton also likes to hide in the vents and shoot people with Nerf arrows.

  8. I  may marry Jarvis, because he is the most helpful person (he is, according to the Turing test- only system to ever pass it) ever.

  9. The amount of sexual tension would kill any normal person (I really wanted to make a law that forced Stony to happen- there's a betting pool).

  10. Romanov is not an idiot and Rogers is a traitor.




  
  


She found me on the first day.

 

I was eating tacos (tacos are amazing, especially with the cheese dip) for breakfast. Romanov sidled up next to me, and passed me a cup of tea. I sniffed it and took a sip. Never ever refuse a free hot drink.

  
  


“Yes?” I asked, sipping at the tea.

  
  


“You used to work for Scorpia?”

  
  


“Two year stint undercover.” Who actually says things like that in the real world? Gezz.

  
  


“You turned Yassen Gregorovich?”

  
  


“Not my secret to tell, Romanov.” I tossed the rest of the tea back. “Thank you for the tea, hope you got what you wanted.” I stood up to leave, but. . .

  
  


“Felix, there’s a PR situation,” Jarvis called. “Steve  made a comment that-” I moved to make coffee, trying to get it to brew faster.

  
  


“Bring up the feed,” I ordered.

  
  


An interviewer asks, “What is your opinion on LGBT rights post World War II?” Fucking hell. The coffee kept brewing at a slow pace.

  
  


“That LGBT rights should happen.” Rogers clearly had no clue how to answer that.

  
  


“Yes, but-”

  
  


“Ma’am, I fought for equal rights during WWII. I served with African Americans, and Japanese-Americans, and you know who imprisoned gays during the time? Hitler. I freed a lot of gay men during the war who immediately got re-sentenced and imprisoned. I am of the belief that sentencing people who the Nazis thought were bad is one of the most stupid decisions I heard in a long time.”

  
  


On the bright side, Captain America isn’t a homophobic asshole. On the downside. . .no, fuck it, he was doing the morally right thing, and I can’t fault him for it. Scream at him, yes.

  
  


“But, they’re ruining the sanctity of marriage,” the interviewer protested.

  
  


“It’s estimated that there are one to five million gay or lesbian parents.” I stared at the coffee machine, daring it to be slower. “34% of children are living with only one parent while 15% have two parents. You say that homosexuals are ruining the ‘sanctity of marriage’. So, I would conclude that your idea of marriage is already fucked up, ma’am. Because the way I see it is that they want some basic human right, like the right to get screwed over by mortgage systems or make horrible decisions about their coma partners.”

 

I groaned. Everybody has this misconception that Rogers won’t swear in front of women. It’s an adorable misconception. It’s one that’s cultivated, because Rogers’ first orders were as a PR for the Army. Damn straight he knew exactly what he was doing. Rogers doesn’t like to swear in front of women he respects, but he will gladly do it to piss off or confuse people he hates.

 

I could barely be mad at him. Barely.

 

I snatched up my coffee, and called Pepper.

“Did you see the video?”

 

“I am handling it,” She snarled back. Okay then. “I am handling the press, but I would appreciate it if you could talk to Steve since my talks have accomplished nothing.”

 

“I will go do that then. Thank you, Miss Potts.” I hung up the phone. Rogers hadn’t said anything else, just walked off the stage after his long speech. “I guess you will want to continue your interrogation later?”

 

“Are you going to avoid me?”

 

“To put it bluntly, Romanov, that would be stupid. I will not tell you secrets that aren’t mine to say aloud though no matter what you do to me. Thanks for the tea.” I left, not knowing that it was that day she started to truly respect me.

 

I headed down to Rogers’ floor, since I’d been on the top floor for everybody. I knocked on his door, and he let me in.

 

Rogers’ apartment was bare. Everything was scrubbed clean. I read isolation and depression in the heavy scent of bleach. Either that or Rogers killed somebody today.

 

“The interview went viral.”

 

“Oh?” He feigned ignorance and innocence.

 

“Miss Potts wants me to give you a talk about how to speak to the press.”

 

“I’m sorry I caused any trouble for you and her.” That was honest at least.“You’re not mad that I said something, are you?”

 

“I am irritated at the fresh amount of paperwork, but no, not really.” I met his eyes. Rogers wasn’t some shy twenty-something youth that he sold himself as. “I can’t be mad, because you knew exactly what you were doing. I know you weighed the risks, and carried through with your plan of teaching the bitch a lesson.” Rogers didn’t blink at the language. Oh yeah, he’s a damn innocent vet from the Holocaust, sure. “I’m not mad, Rogers, so relax.”

 

“Not homophobic then?” He was still tense. Ah. Barnes and Stark.

 

“Shield is aggressively accepting of all genders, gender expression, and sexuality, providing that it is consensual and doesn’t hurt anybody. Did anybody bother giving you a briefing on the 21st century or did they just figure it would go over your head?”

 

“2nd one. So you don’t care if-?” He shifted in his bare-ass apartment, looking at me like a blond puppy.

 

“Rogers, I would have happily punched that woman as well, regardless of my sexuality. Furthermore, if you ever want to go to a gay bar, I will gladly go with you.” I clutched my coffee as a shield, wrapping my hands around the too-hot mug. “Comedy is a good place to get caught up on things.” I would know.

 

“I know. I watch the Daily Show, Last Week Tonight, and Rachel Maddow.”

 

“Well, good then. Now, future press conferences.”

 

“I won’t swear again, ma’am. It just slipped out, honest,” but he had that devil may care smile.

 

“Bullshit. I am fine if you troll them, and run circles around the stupid people, but stop with the up-front confrontation.”

 

“And if I can’t?” I met his glare squarely.

 

“Then I get to run damage-control with Miss Potts.” I shrugged with my left shoulder, careful to not slip the miracle-liquid. “I prefer to stop the damage before it occurs, but if they start in on racism or something and expect you to be a bigot, well, I am not your mother, Rogers.”

 

“Call me ‘Steve’.”

 

“Call me ‘Felix’. I’ve always felt that ‘ma’am’ is an insult.”

 

“So, when you stopped calling me ‘Captain’?”

 

“I stopped insulting you.” I was not ashamed by this. There are meaner ways to troll people.

 

“Huh,” was all he said. “I’ll try to be nicer. Are you going to make me apologize?”

 

“Hell no. Bitch deserved it.” I looked around, out of my peripherals, at his apartment and almost grimaced. “Meet me down on the main floor in twenty minutes. I scored two tickets to a gallery opening, and Yassen will not enjoy it.”

 

I left, not giving him a chance to refuse. It only took thirty seconds to hack the administration anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Avengers 2, and I am pissed about it. I did a review of it on this site, but I am not getting into the anger here.
> 
> http://www.palmcenter.org/publications/dadt/u_s_military_policies_concerning_homosexuals  
> the us policies concerning gays during WWII. Apparently, homosexuals were not allowed in the military and the warning signs were femininity, and have a more stretched out ass. Yup, that happened.
> 
> http://www.hardenet.com/homocaust/liberationforothers.htm Homosexuals were either re-imprisioned after being liberated by the Allies or they were persecuted by society. No nazis was ever tried for committing crimes against homosexuals. It would be until the late 20th century, before the world would be like ‘yeah, we fucked up again, sorry guys’.
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persecution_of_homosexuals_in_Nazi_Germany_and_the_Holocaust A complete history of the whole depressing thing.
> 
> Trust me when I say that Steve has a good reason to be pissed over it. Like I kinda hate humanity right now. Steve has a very good reason, and I am proud of him for not bitch slapping the reporter.
> 
> https://my.vanderbilt.edu/developmentalpsychologyblog/2013/12/is-a-non-traditional-family-structure-completely-doomed-for-failure-how-you-can-make-sure-your-child-thrives-despite-the-odds/ nontradional family studies
> 
> Me: Share more.  
> Felix: Hell no. Also, hypocrite.
> 
> I love her relationship with Steve. Like it is beautiful.


	23. Ireland (Home of Trouble and Knitting)

Last Time: _I left, not giving him a chance to refuse. It only took thirty seconds to hack the administration anyway._

 

* * *

 

It took another two weeks for the Avengers to quit watching me like I was plotting their deaths. Tony (they’d all asked for first names, and I’d done the same) still came in and touched everything, but now, he talked ‘Science!’ at me. I had not met Jane or her intern yet. Rogers stopped trolling me. Natasha never questioned me again, but I knew that she and Yassen sparred from time to time. Clint was still on the wire, but Natasha was handling it and I stayed out of it.

 

Alex (it took him over four weeks to finally give in and ask to be called ‘Alex’) had made it to Intermediate Level in our classes. He knew Russian, decent combat skills, code breaking, programming, and a bunch of other odds and ends. I’d taken to teaching him the paperwork that he would encounter in the spy world, along with advanced combat and tradecraft. Natasha and Clint had started to help with his training. I think it was an excuse for Clint to shoot more arrows at somebody. Nobody had bothered to voice a protest over Alex’s age. All of them were fighting at his age or younger. They all respected his decision once I’d explained it, because they’ve all been there.

 

Of course that’s when shit went down, because this is my life and it’s bullshit.

 

Fury asked me for a favor, which I gave because he’d kept his nose out of Avenger business, and I did owe him.Yassen growled at me the whole damn time that I was packing. It was a simple reconnaissance mission. I’m still not entirely sure why it was me who Fury wanted, but that is how it went down.

 

I took a flight to Ireland (terrorists were here for the view and gay marriage, I guess). I dug my stakeout, and set up. I was using the Shield issued sniper rifle. My job was to watch this company, operating out of fucking Ireland. Fury thought it had ties to Hydra.

 

It did.

 

The goose-stepping and weapons gave it away.

 

I’m gonna tell you a little secret: the company is always a front for something to do with grandmothers (like cooking or baking). This time is was knitting. Yes, Hydra was operating out of a yarn company in Ireland, and of course, it was in Northern Ireland, the United Kingdom.

 

The whole place looked like a holiday card. ‘Hey honey, I was just up in Ireland, and I brought you back some of the good yarn’.

 

The entire place was covered in trip wires and traps. We’re talking like the Steranko System from Leverage.

 

I texted Fury a couple of pictures and waited.

 

Fury had told me that he wanted the place watched, and have a threat assessment done. He also said that it was a low level threat, and mainly an excuse to give me a break from dealing with the PR from running the team. Steve and Tony’s UST had reached a Level, especially since Ms. Potts gave her blessing. I knew she had money riding on it.

 

I grinned remembering the bar from four days ago.

 

* * *

 

*Four Days Ago*

_It had been after a rough mission. The Avengers had been sent in to rescue a bunch of kids from a mutant branch of Hydra. Steve showed up at my door three hours after I finished the paperwork and the post-mission debriefs._

_“Do you want a drink?” Steve asked._

_“Hell yes. Let me change quickly.” I went and pulled on a set of fresh clothes and a slew of deodorant. Yassen had taken the boys out for the day. I grabbed my bag, and followed Steve down into the street._

_“You know a place?” I asked. He nodded. The rest of the team were waiting on the sidewalk. I sighed at Steve, but followed him as he led the way to the bar down the street._

_“They better have vodka,” I muttered to Natasha._

_“So you have met the Russians,” Barton said spookily. I brushed his shoulder._

_“I went, I saw, I surrendered to the Vodka ways,” I joked, truthfully. Yassen had snuck Vodka into Canada immediately after Italy._

_“First round’s on me,” Natasha said, signalling to the bartender. All of them were dressed casually, and the people around the Tower had started to get protective to the paparazzi._

_I got a beer. The others’ drinks were varied in number and type. Bruce didn’t drink anything stronger than black coffee, even though the Hulk was a happy drunk._

_“So, spin the bottle?” Tony asked, only half joking._

_“I’ve been brainwashed before,” I said carelessly, rubbing at the beer sticker. Barton froze then relaxed. I carefully didn’t drink the beer. “Scorpia drugged me and Yassen up in an effort to make me break.” I swirled the beer, and didn’t tell them the rest of it. “It was bad.”_

_“And that’s why your hands have been shaking?” Barton asked, the perceptive bitch._

_“Yup.” I didn’t drink the beer. Natasha watched my hands. “They’d dose one of us, and let them have fun on the other.”_

_“Bucky had the same look in his face as those kids,” Steve said quietly. He did drink, but it wouldn’t do much._

_“He was gay,” Steve continued, nearly monotone. “We never- I thought he would get over it, you know? Move on?” Nobody opened their mouths to call Steve names. “I thought he would find somebody better than I could be.”_

_I put an arm around Steve’s shoulders._

_“Coulson,” was all Barton said softly. Natasha squeezed his hand._

_“Betty Ross,” Bruce said softly._

_“Jane.”_

_Tony didn’t say a word. Neither did Natasha, but they knew the value of secrets. Tony may not have stayed with Pepper, but he did love her. I think Natasha had a thing with both Barton and Coulson, but who can say really?_

_The night quickly dissolved into elaborate drinking games. They livened up after a few drinks._

_I learned that Tony is Barney from How I Met Your Mother, and he will do the dares. Steve has a nice singing voice, low and smooth. Thor enjoys smashing things._

_It was a good night._

_Nobody does trauma nights like the Avengers._

_I remember how we all fell asleep to Arrow in the Tower’s main rec room (Barton kept bitching about the stunts). I had my feet in Steve’s lap, and was leaning against Tony. It was peaceful._

_I blame Hydra._

* * *

 

I didn’t move away from the bug, crawling up my shoulder blade. No movement from the brightly painted yarn factory.

 

A truck pulled up in front of the factory. It was white (ah, the cliches), and had four people in it. Two of them half carried a man inside.

 

I zoomed in, and nearly dropped a large, fully loaded gun. I texted Fury that closer surveillance was needed. Nobody else was here, but me, because he thought it would be ‘meditative’.

 

I walked across the street casually, stopping in front of a fish stand, playing the dutiful woman, picking up her shopping for the day. I prayed under my breath that I had missed a crucial detail.

 

A man exited the building. Damn. I didn’t blink or look up. I continued chatting cheerfully with the old fisherman (I still hate Hemingway). He started explaining different nets. I could feel the weapons hidden under my comfortable pair of jeans and jacket.

 

Why do I always end up in bloody populated areas when it all goes to shit? Why can’t I pull a Bond, and end up in a deserted Scottish castle, huh?

 

“Oh yes, I use worms,” the little old man continued. One of the goons from the Yarn Place (my life- geez) came over, and bumped into me.

 

I turned around, because that’s what any normal woman would do. I shot him, and then the little old, not so harmless fisherman (he had two guns on him).

 

I hit the alarm on my phone, just as the alarm on the yarn factory blared.

 

The yarn factory was set up next to the sea (powered by water turbines). There was nothing in the surrounding area except that, the fish stand, and a small street of houses.

 

Guards came, pouring out of the houses, surrounding me.

 

“Core.” And here I was expecting Hydra.

 

“Doctor,” I said, cooly. I was mentally shaking in my boots. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. “How are the wife and kids?”

 

“Are you going to come quietly or?” I shot him in the head.

 

“Option two please,” I said cheerfully.

 

I dodged the bullets, crouching behind the fish stand. I grimaced at the stench.

 

A man kicked down the stand. He was wearing a mask and had a metal arm. I shot him in the head, hitting nothing but air. He leapt over my head and tackled me, slamming me into the dirt street.

 

I tried to move, but he had me pinned.

 

“Be still,” he growled in my ear.

 

“Get the fuck off me, asshole.” I elbowed his face, and kicked his groin area. I could feel him smile. I kicked him again. Bullet-proof cup. I flipped him over my head, and reached to break his neck-

 

A man bumped my head with his gun. “Hold,” he called. I froze.

 

The Winter Soldier leapt to his feet. I grit my teeth, and stayed on the ground. I wasn’t any help dead.

 

“Move,” Winter said softly. I got up slowly. He searched me thoroughly, taking all my weapons, tricks, and clothes. I shivered in the brisk morning air.

 

He lashed my arms in front of me with duct tape, cuffed my legs so I could barely walk, and blind-folded me. I could read professional in every line.

 

I had the vague thought that Yassen would either ask for his autograph or murder both of us. It’s been a while since somebody could keep up with me in an actual fight.

 

The guards injected me with something to knock me out. The Soldier held me still. I continued trying to murder him in vain. Russian bastard.

 

* * *

 

I coughed and rolled up to my feet, still naked. There was a chain around my ankle, binding me to the cement floor. I yanked on the chain. It was one of those specially designed ones for people like me who loved to hack and pick things. I could see the imprint of a filed-down Shield label.

 

I was in a large room, with several drains in the middle of the floor and a metal table. There was a nice vent system, 3 walls of cement, one wall of bomb-proof ANN ARBOR sheet. The table was bolted to the ground, but I couldn’t reach it anyway.

 

The Winter Soldier stood at the end of the hallway that housed my cell.

 

There was a room directly across from mine that housed a man.

 

Well, at least I wasn’t hallucinating. Phil Coulson was alive.

 

*To Be Continued- hopefully not after another hiatus*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started reading the works by dirgewithoutmusic and omg, is it wonderful. It is- I want to write poetry about it, and the pain is inspirational. Just, check out her Harry Potter series, and Tamora Pierce.  
> This chapter is going to be confusing at times. That is your warning. Also: torture, blood, bleeding, rape, gore, and like everything you get from the normal cannon, but hey, I try. Um, this warning goes for the rest of the story, especially the next chapter.
> 
> I apologize for the wait, but I have to think about how I’m planning this. I also had to do things for school and other people. Seriously, I am very very sorry for the wait. And you really do not want to know about the bullshit homophobia I encountered.


	24. The CIA was incorrect (Waterboarding is not effective)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: WATERBOARDING AND OTHER TORTURE-ABSTRACTLY AT TIMES, BUT I KNOW that it freaks some people out.

Last Time: _I was in a large room, with several drains in the middle of the floor and a metal table. There was a nice vent system, 3 walls of cement, one wall of bomb-proof ANN ARBOR sheet. The table was bolted to the ground, but I couldn’t reach it anyway._

_The Winter Soldier stood  at the end of the hallway that housed my cell._

_There was a room directly across from mine that housed a man._

_Well, at least I wasn’t hallucinating. Phil Coulson was alive._

 

* * *

 

I got up carefully and rapped on the translucent wall. The Winter Soldier didn’t have his mask on. I breathed in carefully. Of fucking course, because this was Steven Grant Rogers, and somebody decided to make his life hell.

 

“What does the fox say?” It was the most irritating thing to sing that I could think of.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Barnes muttered.

 

I carefully did not smile. I wasn’t particularly surprised that the Winter Soldier was James Barnes. I mean, everything happens to Steve. Whoever wrote their story has a thing for fridging characters, and then bringing them back. I didn’t really have the time or energy to get worked up.

 

“So, I guess you didn’t take all the stupid with you, huh?” He froze, and then snarled at me. I read those Shield reports, thank you very much.

 

“Shut the fuck up, whore.”

 

“Yeah, Stevie mentioned that you have a horrible mouth on you.” I fell, twitching, to the floor. The anklet comes with its very own shocker.

 

“Try that again, Ubiquesta, and I’ll cut you,” Ted snapped, entering the room.

 

“Ah, Ted, you’re going to do that anyway, aren’t you?”

 

“Not dumb yet?”

 

I jerked my head up at him, getting to my feet. “We’ve played this game already. You stab me, I stab you, and places get blown up. Still against letting me go, darling?”

 

“No, come here,” Ted ordered, gesturing at Barnes to open up the cell. Ted tapped a couple of buttons on a panel outside my cell. The chain on my ankle lengthed. Fuck. Barnes and Ted walked into the cell.

 

I looked at Barnes. He’d flashed micro-expressions of doubt when I mentioned Steve. It would be relatively easy to break the brainwashing. It comes down to what’s best for him, Coulson, and me. Fuck.

 

Barnes forced me up on a table. I punched him before he got a good, solid grip on my throat. Ted had rolled a cart into the cell. Barnes let me see what was on it. There was a hose, cloth, and duct tape. I struggled, elbowing Barnes and breaking his nose and a couple of fingers (fuck Steve).

 

Ted taped me down to the table, covering my pubic region, arms, boobs, and legs in duct tape. That boded well. He wouldn’t bother using duct tape, and giving me a wax, if he was going to kill me outright. Be wary if your interrogator uses cheap rope. He tied the cloth around my head. Barnes helped to adjust the table at a 20 degree angle.

 

Coulson hadn’t moved. He didn’t know me, and frankly, not looking at me might save his life.

 

“The codes to Jarvis.” Ted hooked up the hose squeakily. I tested the duct tape. Professional. Damn.

 

I didn’t say a word.

 

The way to survive this game is silence. You don’t give your mouth permission to talk. You don’t sing stupid fairy songs or recite prayers. You give them nothing, until you have to.

 

Torture is not a reliable way to get information. Ever. The CIA can not justify any of the twenty cases that it did say reliable information was produced. No, this was about revenge.

 

“Codes, Felix,” Ted snarled, turning the water on. I breathed normally. Waterboarding is going to suck no matter what you do.

 

I drifted.

 

* * *

 

*Ten Years Ago*

“So you want to be a doctor?” I smiled at mom.

 

“Yep.”

 

* * *

 

I coughed, snorting and choking, splashing water back up.

 

“Hold her down,” Ted snapped at Barnes. His eyes were dead inside.

 

“Remember how the Nazis strapped you done?” I asked him, water dripping from my face. “Slapped a metal arm on you?”

 

Ted broke my nose. He still hit poorly. “You going to try that shit again?”

 

“Uh, yeah, idiot. He’s Captain America’s friend. I’m pretty sure that it’s a felony to not help him.”

 

“What’s she talking about?” Barnes had a constant growl to his voice.

 

“You served with the good Captain in World War II, or didn’t they tell you you used to be a good guy?”

 

“Shut up, Ubiquesta or I will gut your throat.”

 

“And then how would I give you the codes, Ted, come on.” It was the game of I withhold codes, and he gets to torture me for them (because Ted’s boss wants them).

 

“Hydra wants to experiment on him again,” was his snappy comeback. I shut my mouth. “You think breaking him is better?”

 

“Well, I’d rather know what went down in Italy, and everything I did to Gregorovich than not.” I smiled cheerfully through the cloth.

 

“You break him, you buy him.”

 

“Ah, kindergarten, so lovely.”

 

* * *

 

It took three days for Barnes to break. I lost all my nails and hair doing it. Coulson had yet to say a word. He kept staring at me, but he knew better than to ask about Clint. It wasn’t a particularly nice glare either.

 

“You bitch,” Barnes whispered when he finally broke. Ted placed Barnes in the cells next to Coulson and across from me. He strung Barnes up against the wall and left him to rot. “What purpose does this serve?”

 

“Cap would murder me if I didn’t try.”

 

“And he gets a broken friend.”

 

“Yeah, pity is a great choice right now.” I sighed, jerking at my chain. Ted visited every day, lengthening it, torturing me, dropping me, and shortening the chain back up. He’d chained it to my right leg, knowing that it was more likely to be stiff and painful.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Not my type, cowboy.” I winked at him. “I’m a fan of self-love.”

 

He gagged. I smirked cheerfully, because Steve told me stories that night at the bar (he thought I would be too drunk to remember- ha).

 

“I’m-”

 

“Barnes, I really do not have the time or energy to fix you right now.” My voice was level and more gentle than my words. In all honesty, I’d rather it be me, making these decisions. I can live with the guilt.

 

“Break it, you buy it.”

 

“Life’s not fair, cowboy.”

 

“You gonna keep calling me that shit, like a porno?”

 

“I know about the hat, Barnes.” There was a Thing involving this girl’s hat in a PR show, and yeah.

 

Coulson’s eyes were slightly less dead. His chest was still bleeding sluggishly.

 

“Yo, Ted, my man, can I check on that guy. He’s gonna bleed out soon?” I shouted at the hall camera.

 

Ted watched me closely as I tended to Coulson. His wound from Loki had healed nicely, but there were new cuts and scars. He kept tensing and loosening his fingers. I didn’t bother to offer words of comfort. He didn’t bother trying to give me a message.

  
Some people get so used to having their mouth shut, that they won’t ever open it again.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fridging is me coining the coined term ‘sticking women in fridges’ that a reporter wrote. She was talking about how superheros always get their girlfriends killed off to make them more tragic, but it happens to everybody around them. Hence, me making it a verb and more gender neutral. Feel free to use it, long as you know (and acknowledge) that it’s not from me or you. I found out that other people also came up with ‘fridging’, so really do not give credit to me.
> 
> The torture is skipped over because that’s how Felix is. Count yourself lucky that you got this chapter and hush. Waterboarding is torture, and I have a thing about people who think it’s not. TORTURE DOES NOT WORK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmeF2rzsZSU. Ask any expert at interrogation (say the BAU or Yassen Gregorovich), because you will say anything to get out of torture, and the information is not reliable. The goal of withstanding torture is not dying, and not compromising information. Ergo, you get fucking good at lying and half dying (YES I DO MY RESEARCH).
> 
> Bucky is the way he is for Reasons. Brainwashing can occur (Stockholm syndrome), but the subject is left with residual stuff. Also, Hydra wouldn’t want Bucky too brain dead, because he wouldn’t be able to make rational decisions under fire. Bucky was used to the torture (STOCKHOLM), and it shows through Cap2, and the comics. I also hate it when fics make Bucky out to be this braindead, non-swearing, emotionless person. I think Hydra would be smart enough to know that Barnes is going to have residual effects, and pretend they think he’s a human, and manipulate him with that notion in mind (yes, I think I’m cinemaSins but for Marvel).
> 
> Basically, I fuck with canon and my audience at times. In my defense, Joss Whedon and Avengers 2.
> 
> I love Barton and his suspicion over Russians, because he Knows, okay. I swear he’s not actually racist, just very very afraid after Budapest.


	25. Q Owes Me for Bond

Last Time: _Ted watched me closely as I tended to Coulson. His wound from Loki had healed nicely, but there were new cuts and scars. He kept tensing and loosening his fingers. I didn’t bother to offer words of comfort. He didn’t bother trying to give me a message._

_Some people get so used to having their mouth shut, that they won’t ever open it again._

* * *

 It took Fury two months, I found out later. Ted had cut out my tracker, and Yassen wasn’t in the business by then. Coulson didn’t speak. Barnes spoke too much, rushing out his words, jabbing me, and watching my mouth for more lies. Ted took my leg.

 

They came in a fury of gunfire and tear gas. For once I was grateful that the cells were gas proof. I leveled myself up, using the wall for support. Wolf stood in front of the cage. He had an assault rifle and wore a mask over his features.

 

“Leo?”

 

“Yeah,” I yelled back. “Chest wound, cell across from me. I’m out a leg. My friend is out an arm.” Barnes scrambled up behind me. I hovered in front of him. Snake entered the hallway.

 

“We’re clear for extraction. Enemy’s thirty minutes out.” Snake slipped into Coulson’s cell, checking over his injuries. Wolf unlocked Barnes’ and my cell. Barnes helped me limp out. Wolf guarded the exit.

 

I watched as Snake strapped Coulson on a collapsible litter. Wolf grabbed up the other end and we hauled ass the hell out of there. Eagle was guarding the door on the other side. All the guards were dead. The newest member was already there. A couple of guys from Parachute Regiment were there (they have slightly different weapons and a very distinctive stance). All of them were moving in an ordered team. Barnes and I picked up spare weapons like Hansel and Gretel.

 

“Where you dropping me off?” I asked Wolf as he led the way to the chopper.

 

“MI6,” he said calmly. They loaded us up. The K-Unit stayed with, getting on the chopper. “Blunt’s been taken down, along with anybody involved with Cub. Q’s going to want to see you.” I nodded.

 

“Injuries?” Snake barked at me. Coulson was still bleeding out. Ted had turned into a raging psychopath (imagine my surprise) about letting me make  sure that Coulson didn’t die.

 

“Chest wound on him. Internal bleeding. Barnes heals fast. His arm is gushing blood. My leg’s healed over as much as it will. A couple of fractures all around, concussion, blood loss, shock.” I caught Snake’s eye. “None of us does well with doctors or hospitals. Pain medicine won’t work on me or Barnes.”

 

“Okay,” Snake replied. He passed me a roll of bandages and I tied off Barnes’ arm or lack thereof. Ted had stolen back the tech in retribution of my stealing Barnes. I helped Snake prep Coulson for surgery. “They’re going to send him into surgery the moment we land, you good?” he asked.

 

I nodded jerkily. Barnes flinched, but kept his mouth shut. “Who?”

 

“Q’s organizing everything,” Wolf said. “We’ll land in an hour and a half. You were in Germany.” I was leaning against him, naked (goddamn fucking Ted).

 

“Was everybody dead in the compound?”

 

“We don’t know,” Wolf said. “The Mission was to get you out of there.”

 

“Fuck,” I swore. Barnes leaned against me. My hands were bloody (covered in Coulson’s) but they didn’t shake. Eagle flew the chopper with a steady hand. The probie manned the guns. Wolf gave Barnes and I spare clothes. I dressed hurriedly, slashing away the extra pant leg with a spare knife. I did the same for Barnes’ arm.

 

He watched me. He wasn’t used to being by himself in his head, and watched me like I was his moral compass. I hoped to hell that Rogers would know what to do with that. I am nobody’s moral compass, especially after the past two months.

 

It was a long flight. Coulson died twice, and came back, by the time we landed on the roof of the SIS building. They wouldn’t take us to the tunnels until we cleared by a thousand different people. I leaned against Barnes. Fuck. Technically, parts of MI6 still wanted me dead, and I didn’t know what they would do to Barnes. Coulson, at the least, was in the clear (provided that he was Coulson) because he was a respected ex-member of Shield, and MI6 did not want to piss off Fury that much.

 

“Awesome.” Medics hurried at the chopper, moving like it was a six-figure race. They grabbed Coulson and set him up on a gurney. Snake ran after them, yelling out stats, and headed with them into surgery. Barnes and I limped after them in the wierdest three-legged race ever. Wolf stayed on my left, and Eagle followed behind. Q greeted us at the door.

 

He had a tablet. “Operating room 1 is cleared.” Snake got left behind with the rest of us, as they took Coulson directly into surgery.

 

Bond was there. He was watching Barnes with a tense jaw. I made a sharp hand gesture at him to knock it off. He relaxed- slightly. Q glared at me.

 

“This settles our score for North Korea.” Bond had tried to bring a cell phone in, and had gotten arrested when he set foot on the ground. I nodded.

 

“And what are you going to do with my friend?” I asked, gesturing at Barnes.

 

“Nothing, and we’re good on Baghdad.” There was another Thing with Bond and an old woman, armed only with a handbag. I can’t make this up: she asked him to help cross the street. He did it, and got made.

 

“And my head being at the top of the hit list?”

 

“Included in the sale. MI6 doesn’t want you, Gregorovich, or Rider. Interagency cooperation and all that. Are you going to let the nice medic take a look at your leg now, Felix?”

 

“You still owe me for Veneleza,” I muttered.

 

“And you owe me for Berlin.” I shook his hand. “Nice to see you again.” Barnes looked at me.

 

“They’re good, trust me,” I told him curtly. Q is one of the few people who caught me. I sagged against Barnes, guarding his ‘bad’ arm.

 

“How do you want to do this?” Q asked, and thank M, because he was not the leader of paranoid, PTSD ridden 00 agents for nothing.

 

tbc

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last line from the last chapter might’ve been a jab at myself. Felix plays on something that I heard during a book debate about how first person meant that the character had to tell the truth the whole time, and Felix calls them on it. I like having a scientific, unreliable narrator, and I apologize for this chapter in that regard.
> 
> When I first started writing this, I was worried about Felix’s leg. I thought it would take the crack a little bit too far, but then I saw Kingsmen and found some awesome stuff on the Internet. I cleared it with thelightwithin, because she’s my moral compass on this. My head is basically Happy Tree Friends. Yeah.
> 
> The Bond-cellphone thing is because I had to do research on how to enter North Korea. They finally allow Americans to bring cellphones, and I could just see Bond being all ‘but my Flappybird, why can’t I have my Flappybird, Q?’
> 
> The SIS building is where MI6 is actually in. It’s fucking huge and Skyfall used it. I figured they would have chopper pads for super important people.   
> it.http://www.jamesbondlifestyle.com/product/sismi6-headquarters-vauxhall-cross-london-uk
> 
> My favs are people who commented on it: “I like the french secret service better." Like they have been there often.
> 
> I worked hard to keep this from crossing over with James Bond. *Sigh*.


	26. I'm Gonna Bake Bond a Cake (he destroyed Medical a long time ago)

Last Time: _“They’re good, trust me,” I told him curtly. Q is one of the few people who caught me. I sagged against Barnes, guarding his ‘bad’ arm._

_“How do you want to do this?” Q asked, and thank M, because he was not the leader of paranoid, PTSD ridden 00 agents for nothing._

* * *

 

“I figure that you want to wait until your man is out of surgery,” Q said. I nodded. “In the mean time, food and coffee, and a medical check, yes?”

 

“No doctors,” Barnes said at last. I nudged him gently.

 

“I go first,” I argued. “You can watch and suitably threaten them for a few minutes, yeah?”

 

“No drugs.”

 

“Nothing that will put you on your ass or any experiments,” I argued back. Q stood there, looking suitably defenseless. I would buy it, but I’d heard the stories.

 

Barnes finally nodded. Q gestured at a medic who led us all into a smaller room with an exam table. Everything was sterile and boxed up, out of sight. It still smelled like hospital cleaner.

 

I sat down on the exam table, hopping up by using Barnes’ shoulder. Q sat in one of the chairs. Barnes stood in the corner, twitching. Bond was right outside. Q set up a monitor that linked to Coulson’s surgery, high-line entertainment.

 

“You staying for this?” I asked Q.

 

“Who do you think monitors Bond’s feed?” And that was answer enough. Bond does a lot of things, to a lot of women and men. I striped off my shirt for the doc. She was quick about the exam, and I didn’t think her gender was an accident.

 

She checked my chest, back, arms. I ditched the pants. The doc, Mel, washed and stitched up my cuts. Mel checked my blood pressure, and drew some blood. The rest of the exam was rapid.

 

“You don’t need immediate surgery, but your leg needs some work. It’s infected.” Ted had made the cut below my knee. He then shot me in the knee to see what would happen(not good things). “Your knee is shattered.” Ted had given me duct tape to wrap around it. “You also have internal bleeding, cracked ribs, several fractures, contusions, and a concussion, not to mention all the cuts and burns.”

 

“Okay. You’re going to need to check all of us for STIs, but I think we’re clean. They didn’t want to damage the merchandise,” I said easily. “And pain killers don’t do anything for Barnes or I. They dosed both of us with some version of the Super Serum.”

 

“Can I?” she started, but I cut her off.

 

“No. I’m good, and there’s no need for me to accidently kill you.” I put my pants back on. “If you really want to see my parts, do it when I’m out like a light.”

 

Mel bandaged me up, and took a blood sample.

 

“I’ll ask Director Fury to ship me what he uses on Rogers,” Q said calmly. I have never been so grateful for the amount of bullshit the 00s create. I switched with Barnes. It went in the same fashion. Barnes sat there with a bored look on his face. Mel gave me a wheelchair that I spun lightly (my hands were cut up, but not too badly).

 

Q led us back to the waiting area when Mel was done. He provided us with coffee (Barnes), tea (mine, and it was the good stuff), and food. He sat down on my other side. Barnes was still guarding my other side. They put chairs around the wheelchair, and we sat to wait.The wheelchair was compact, light, and built to withstand a war zone or a bored Special Agent of British Intelligence, which is really the same thing.

 

It took eight hours for Coulson to come out of surgery. He looked pale, and shaky. A doc came to update us twice, but didn’t really say anything. I touched Barnes’ shoulder.

 

“How are we playing this, Q?”

 

“You’re next,” he told me. “You’re worse off than Barnes, and we have the pain medicine from Fury. He express mailed it from a Shield office. Fury is flying in tonight. He’ll be here in the morning.” I nooded and leaned up against Barnes.

 

“If something goes wrong, and they kill me,” I told him calmly. Q and Bond didn’t blink (I love people who are used to shit plans). “you are not allowed to kill them, okay?”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yes,” I said, smiling and nodding at him. I really didn’t want Barnes to get taken out by Bond (that would be embarrassing at this point).

 

“Fine,” he muttered. I raised my eyebrows at him. He sighed and tilted his head. “No murdering MI6 if you die.”

 

“Good. Now hook me up with the good drugs.” Mel handed me a mask to breath through.

 

“We’ll take you into the ER once you’re out,” she told me. I squeezed Barnes’ hand and breathed through the mask. I wouldn’t ask anybody to go through something I wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

I woke quickly. I tried to roll off the bed, but a hand stopped me.

 

Fury leaned into my field of vision. “Code Sunrise, Felix, calm down.” I laid back down, shaky. I reached for my leg, but Fury tapped me lightly and I stopped. “Easy. Barnes and Coulson are still out.”

 

I tapped the intubation tubing. He shook his head. “That needs to stay for a moment.” I tapped it again, shaking slightly. I knew better than to actually tug on it (Yassen had that habit). I couldn’t breath. “Easy.” He kept a firm hand on my non-bandaged shoulder(left arm). I tapped the bandages over my left eye. “Internal bleeding.”

 

I tapped the tube again, and he shook his head.

 

“Settle for a moment, and I’ll catch you up.” I stopped, glaring at him. It was a normal recovery room. “Coulson’s fine, still stable. Barnes also is good. It is actually Agent Coulson. He has a few cuts and bruises, and a large chest wound. He should recover without further incident. Barnes should be alright. He doesn’t have any major injuries, aside from the amputated arm. I’ll want an explanation when they take the tube out.”

 

I tapped it again, glaring pointedly at him. He grinned, and shook his head. I made a mental note to tell Tony that he could throw a party on the helicarrier, and rewire the electrical system.

 

Yassen entered the room. I raised an eyebrow at him. Would he really be stupid enough to enter a hostile country? Apparently. I glared at him.

 

“You would have done the same,” Yassen said truthfully. I tapped the tubing again, glaring at him.

 

“Now,” I finger spelled at him. “Or I will tell Alex about Somalia, summer of 1998.”

 

He hit the buzzer to call for medical. I smiled cheerfully at me. That’s right: humor the injured because they have way more blackmail than you think.

 

“Only if medical agrees. If you try it by yourself, horrible horrible secrets will be released,” Yassen said cheerfully as Mel rushed in. I glared at him. “She wants the tube out,” he happily informed them.

 

Mel took the tube out after doing a medical check-up. I made a note to thank Bond for being a dick to medical. I coughed. Yassen gave some ice cubes. “Happy now?”

 

“Yes,” I croaked at him. Mel glared at me. She knew she had to take the tube out or I would have ripped it. I probably owe Bond a cake for terrifying medical (Q wasn’t to be encouraged in his escapades).

 

“We had to amputate your leg again,” Mel said carefully. My breath hitched. I reached down and patted the very numbed out, padded flesh. They had sliced again, about two inches above from my knee used to be. “There was an infection, Felix-” I nodded hastily.

 

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. Mel stared at me. I felt like throwing up. “Seriously, I’m good. You can leave now.”

 

She continued to stare at me. Yassen watched my face, but nodded in agreement. He knew better than to press me into dealing with things. Mel left.

 

“Alex?” I asked him. Yassen gave me his best Russian ‘I will kill you with a spoon’ look. I smiled at him.

 

“Alex is fine.” I raised an eyebrow. “He’s almost fifteen, and can handle himself for a few days.” He looked at me for a second. “Nick found Jamie’s parents. He’s in Virginia with them, been for the past month.”

 

“Huh,” I said. “Well that’s good, good that his parents found him.” Yassen raised his eyebrows, and I winced. Yeah, not my best moment. He’d give me hell later. “The Avengers?”

 

“I haven’t told them,” Fury said softly, not meeting my eyes.

 

“YOU HAVEN’T TOLD THEM?!” I roared at him. He winced. “Call Rogers and Barton, NOW.”

 

“I-,” he protested. I flicked my eyes at Yassen, and growled at Fury. Hell, even fucking Bond would back me on this shit. Fury opened his phone (yes, he uses a flip phone, because he likes pissing off Stark), and called Steve on speaker.

 

“Captain, I need you and Barton to be on the next flight to London,” Fury said. I was going to help Tony with rewiring the helicarrier to play Happy Tree Friends without images.

 

“Hey, Steve,” I said cheerfully. “Not dead. Sherlock has nothing on me.”

 

“Sherlock’s bullshit lasted two years, and he made everybody hate him before he was a dick,” Steve snarked back.

 

“Sorry,” I muttered.

 

“Tony says we’ll be there in forty minutes.” I wanted to make some kind of protest, but what gave me the right to decide Steve’s battles for him? I know you don’t get it (hopefully you never do) but everybody has that point when they just can’t think clearly. I guess that’s untrue; you probably know exactly what I mean.

 

“Okay,” I said softly. “Steve, Agent Coulson and Sergeant Barnes aren’t dead.” I could hear his breath shudder. Tony took over the line.

 

“We’ll be there in thirty,” he said, and hung up the phone.

 

I sat up, and leaned over the edge of the bed. Yassen looked at me. Fury left to talk to Q about security issues. “Wheelchair,” I ordered him. “I need to make sure that they’re fine.”

 

“Felix,” he started.

 

“Please?” I asked. He looked at me for a moment, but nodded. He helped me disconnect some of the tubes, and monitors. He helped me into the wheelchair, careful to make sure that I could see him, and to not jostle my leg. Yassen was kind enough to push the chair into Barnes’ room.

 

He was out cold. IVs and tubing snaked across his body. Wolf was sitting in a chair up against the wall. Eagle was passed out on the soldier’s shoulder. Yassen stared at them. I didn’t bother. I wheeled the chair up against Barnes’ bed. I nicked his file.

 

“He hasn’t stirred,” Wolf assured me. I nodded. I put his file back, and checked on Coulson before returning Barnes.

 

“We should think about putting them in the same room,” I muttered, rubbing at my bald head with one hand.

 

“You should get some sleep,” Wolf muttered.

 

“And you should get back to your base.”

 

“Technically, we’re on leave,” Snake said, entering the room, and snatching up Barnes’ file for himself. He looked at me. “Technically, you should be in bed.”

 

“I am good,” I said calmly. Yassen snorted at me. Yassen sat down next to me, and I leaned against him for a moment.

 

Steve Rogers entered the room.

  
tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, this is like 40k long. Duolingo is a special kind of hell. The IT Crowd is an amazing show. I love Roy. ‘I’m disabled’. I can’t even right now. Also, even Leverage knows that you can’t bullshit Russians.
> 
> The tube thing is wrong. People have to be weaned off it. Put medical mistakes down to Felix being a badass.


	27. The SAS Just Chill

Last Time: _Yassen sat down next to me, and I leaned against him for a moment._

_Steve Rogers entered the room._

_tbc_

* * *

 

I caught Steve’s hand before he could snuggle up to Barnes. He looked down at me, barely seeing me. He was wearing a blue shirt and jeans (somebody had been reading fashion magazines).

 

“Hey, Steve,” I said softly. Yassen had given me a blanket so my stump was covered.

 

“What did they do to him?” Steve asked.

 

He wasn’t even angry anymore. The rage had left his body, and his shoulders sagged. I don’t know if you have ever had the misfortune of disappointing Captain America, but it is not an experience anybody wants to repeat.

 

Disappointing Steve Rogers is worse.

 

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “He remembers you, but he’s not the man that you knew, not quite.” I squeezed his arm. “Give him time, Steve, to learn who he is.” I let him go, and wished that this whole thing hadn’t happened. I wished, without a doubt, that Barnes had died a long time ago, back before the war had ended.

 

Steve sank to the ground before Barnes’ bed. He really did look like a Hollywood film.

 

“What happened?” Tony asked from the door. The SAS men remained silent.

 

“Fury sent me on a recon mission. The knitting factory was Hydra, and I got made.” I hesitated, but they did deserve what I could bear to tell them. “I broke Barnes’ programming. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me for that.” Steve looked at me, eyebrows raised. Yassen gripped my hand. I didn’t drop my eyes. I would do it again. “They interrogated him for it, and took off his arm.”

 

I didn’t say that I made a better target, and they quickly switched back to me. Yassen already knew it, and it wasn’t really my story to tell. Coulson probably had the most liberty, out of all of us.

 

“Agent?” Tony asked.

 

“Hydra stole his body from the morgue, and Fury didn’t report it. He was there for six months,” I responded.

 

“What have you been up to since you left?” Wolf asked incredulously. I smirked at him, and said the one thing to piss him off more than anything else.

 

“Classified.”

 

“Someday,” Snake voiced. “We are going to have a long talk about your love of that word.”

 

“Clint and Natasha are with Coulson,” Tony informed me. “Thor and Bruce are absent. Bruce went green. He should be here in a bit. Jane and Thor were in Asgard, and are unreachable right now.” I nodded.

 

“You always did go for the badass chicks, Stevie,” Barnes muttered, waking up. He met Steve’s eyes, and nearly flinched. “Coulson?”

 

“Still out,” I said. “Figured that you would wake up first.” This was not the time to correct Barnes’ assumption.

 

“Get off, punk,” Barnes told Steve. I smirked at him.

 

“How do you feel-are you-?”

 

“Do not even, Steven Grant Rogers. I have wanted to punch you in your goddamn masochist face for the past five weeks.” Barnes sucked in a breath (he didn’t have to deal with a tube, bastard). “GODDAMN NON-PARACHUTE WEARING FOOL,” he roared at the Cap. I smirked.

 

“Bucky, it-”

 

“Oh, really, explain that to me, Stevie, how it was a good idea to jump onto the deck of a freighter without a parachute from high altitude, or the glass at the Triskelion or the goddamn parkour?”

 

“I see that you told him,” Steve whined at me. I smiled at him. Wolf watched my hands; they were shaking lightly. He caught Yassen’s eye, and Yassen switched his unlimited attention on me.

 

“Why don’t we get some food, Felix? Give the good captain a few minutes?” Yassen asked me. I shook my head at him, but he pushed my wheelchair out of the room. He got us a few hallways away before asking, “That bad?”

 

“Italy 2.0,” I muttered. He stared in shock.

 

“That bad?”

 

“Yeah, they-I need to talk to Clint,” I stuttered. “They did Things to him, and he’s going to be fucked up on our level, Yaz.”

 

“I know.” He hugged me, crouching on the linoleum floor. “I know, love.”

 

“Are you okay?” I whispered, feeling far too broken to ask, but I had to know.

 

“No.” Yassen was honest. “You got hurt, and I could do nothing, but that has nothing you can do with, so leave it.”

 

“My hands are still shaking,” I told him. “I can’t get them to stop since Ireland.”

 

“I’ll hold your knives for now,” he vowed. “Until you can hold them yourself.”

 

“I know. Thank you.” I patted his shoulder. “Once more into the void?”

 

“You’re talking to Sam,” Yassen muttered. I glared at him. “I will if you do,” he said hastily. I punched him in the shoulder. “Seriously, I’ll talk about John Rider.”

 

I raised my eyebrows. We don’t talk about Somalia, summer of ‘98. “Alex been on your case?”

 

“How can I tell him about the glitter?” Yassen looked distressed. He was faking it.

 

“How can you tell him that it was a gay bar?” I asked.

 

Yassen winced. I felt for him. I would hate to tell Alex about the time in Japan. It had involved chopsticks, cross-dressing, and a grey ferrari. I liked that suit, and how I got my hair all gelled up. I rubbed at my bald head. I guess it was back to the pixie, thank somebody.

 

Alarms rang out. I swore under my breath, and clutched at the wheels of the chair (arm out of the sling), and tried to keep up with the running Russian as he raced around the corners.

 

Coulson was screaming in his bed. Clint was pinning him down. Natasha looked pale and shaky. I’d only seen her once like that and that was when Cap had popped his shoulder completely out of his socket, and it had been hanging at his side, only attached by one tendon and bleeding.

 

This was so much worse.

 

Coulson shoved Clint off, and leapt backward, only to collapse in a corner.

 

Coulson was on the ground, bleeding. Tubes lay scattered around him, and he held a scalpel in front of him, directly on Clint. He had ripped some of his stitches.

 

“You’re not real,” he told Clint in this rattling, rusted, corkscrew voice. “They said you are dead. Loki killed you.”

  
tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you doubt me, but most of this was written, because I wanted one fic where Coulson wasn’t anybody’s fault except Loki and Hydra.
> 
> I fucking love Yassen, and I feel so so bad for what’s to come.


	28. I Know What You Did in Italy

Last Time: _Coulson shoved Clint off, and leapt backward, only to collapse in a corner._

_Coulson was on the ground, bleeding. Tubes lay scattered around him, and he held a scalpel in front of him, directly on Clint. He had ripped some of his stitches._

_“You’re not real,” he told Clint in this rattling, rusted, corkscrew voice. “They said you are dead. Loki killed you.”_

* * *

 

I wheeled the chair as close as Coulson would allow. “We talked about this, Phil,” I murmured. “Clint’s real.”

 

He swallowed dryly. “I thought you were a lie.” He swallowed again. I didn’t move. His voice was raw (he ripped out the ventilator- will they ever learn?). “I thought Hydra planted you.”

 

“I could understand that,” I said honestly.

 

“You weren’t lying.”

 

“No.”

 

“We’re really in England?”

 

“Yep, home of MI6.” He smirked at that. Clint took half a step toward Coulson, and Coulson flinched back. “Hey,” I murmured. “It’s all right. Clint’s not going to do anything stupid, and you don’t need to hurt anybody with the scalpel.”

 

“We’re in England?” Phil asked confused. I nodded.

 

“You had surgery, I had surgery; they even put Barnes under,” I explained. “That’s why there’s a doctor.” I shouldn’t have left him alone. I had figured that Clint would keep him calm. This is why we can’t trust people to not freak out.

 

“We’re in the country that wants you dead,” Phil continued. Clint, and Natasha raised their eyebrows up.

 

“They’re, uh, putting that on hold. MI6 owes me a few debts for 007.” Everybody nodded. They understood. James Bond is one of the most recognized code names ever (he is suicidal, in other words).

 

I kept my eyes on Coulson. “Feel like getting back on the bed?” I asked him. He nodded. A few of the nurses helped him up onto the bed. Yassen watched me.

 

“I’ll go tell Barnes that he’s awake,” Yassen said and left. I raised my eyebrows, but I couldn’t let the children know that Yassen was being snippy about my past, and my issues with England.

 

“Barnes is up?” Coulson asked. I nodded.

 

“He’s good. Steve’s with him.”

 

“Okay,” Coulson said.

 

“They didn’t want one of you to wake up, and freak out, and scare the other,” I explained. Q had sliced up a nurse this one time, because Bond wasn’t moving enough.

 

“That makes sense,” Coulson responded. I nodded. It did; it really did.

 

“Can I talk to you?” the doc finally asked. Coulson nodded. I sat firmly in my wheelchair. The others got ushered out of the room. “Please, Miss Felix,” the male doc said (I knew that the gender was a thing).

 

“I want her to stay,” Coulson interrupted. The doc, Bill, did a quick once over of Coulson.

 

“You look alright,” Bill said. “It would be helpful for you to relax.” I stayed for the exam, and waited until the doctor gave Coulson another sedative (consensually).

 

I met the Avengers in the hallway.

 

“Well?” Clint asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Natasha was cutting her nails with a machete. She must have gotten a lot of practice at threatening medical to make the trimming look easy.

 

“He’s out. The doc wants him to rest up for a bit.” I marched over to Barnes’ room. “Hey, you mind if I borrow Steve for a moment, and the SAS can watch you?”

 

“Story time?” Barnes asked. I nodded. He grit his teeth, but nodded back. We’d discussed this. He wouldn’t be able to handle Steve’s Guilt Face, and I couldn’t blame him, even though there’s nothing for Barnes to be ashamed of.

 

Yassen followed me out. He was shaky, because I was going to tell them about Italy. The Avengers followed me down into the cafeteria. I got the good kind of tea (special brand from Q that was three times more caffeinated than anything I could buy in the US). It was good, because the Nazis do not support caffeine addictions, and I was procrastinating.

 

You lie to somebody, hoping that they believe you, and that the lie becomes truth. The government excels at this.

 

I wrapped my hands around my mug of tea, and stared at its depths. Yassen sipped at his coffee, and looked like he wanted something stronger. The Avengers settled down around the round table. My throat felt dry, and my veins felt empty.

 

“I was in deep cover for MI6, working at Scorpia.” I could sense Natasha’s eyebrow raise. “It took them two years to work out that I was a mole, and that was MI6’s fault, they let slip some- well, it doesn’t matter.” I took a sip. “Yassen had been ordered to hold a kid hostage. He refused. We rescued the kid, and slipped up. Yassen was caught and I went back for him.”

 

“Thanks for that,” he murmured into my shoulder. I squeezed his wrist. He sat back up.

 

“I got caught. Scorpia developed this compound- it forces the patient to do what the compeller wants, to a degree. It’s not truth serum, and it doesn’t force you to betray your mission, but it is enough that they can use you to torture another captive.” I felt sick and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. “They also developed hallucinogenic drugs, among more erotic drugs.” I took a sip from the tea, trying to steady my hands.

 

“We’ve been through all of them,” Yassen continued for me. “I gave her the scar on her right leg, and she gave me several compound fractures. The drugs stopped working and they would hold a gun to somebody’s head, and say ‘break their hand, or I shoot them dead’, and you did it.”

 

There are worse things than death. Harry Potter does not lie, apparently.

 

“The reason I was spotted in Ireland,” I said finally. “was because, Scorpia is teaming up with Hydra. They have the same drugs.” I met Clint’s and Steve’s eyes. There wasn’t anything to magically fix this. My hands were always steady, because I could slip, and cut Yassen’s jugular. Medical training was useful for something.

 

“It’s going to take time for them to even start to recover,” Yassen murmured.

 

“If they ever completely do, which is very unlikely.” I faced Clint. “This is why Fury hired me. He knew that I wouldn’t even question your loyalties, or anybody else’s. Mind control is a bitch.”

 

“And you wouldn’t have wanted me to feel like you were pitying me?” I nodded.

 

“Fury did right in picking you,” Steve said at last. Angst was a requirement for the Avengers. A sad backstory is just a piece of it.

 

“What did you do to end up on MI6’s list?” Tony asked. Tony had kept his silence, because he knew the things that he was good at, and sometimes, sometimes, the genius is actually a genius.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” I said hastily.

 

“So you all tortured each other?” Tony asked, because he rocks the awkward questions.

 

“Yes,” I replied shortly. And more, I didn’t need say. Rape is a very useful weapon, and the Avengers are very amazing on picking things up.

 

“You’ve done it before?” Bruce asked. I nodded.

 

“Yes,” I said clearly. “As part of my op for MI6, I did a lot of crimes undrugged.”

 

“How did they even catch you?” Steve asked. Yassen snorted. He knew that you only need to make one mistake: be human.

 

“I was a medical student. MI6 created issues with my VISA, because of my past as a hacker.” Among other things. “They said that I just needed to do a little recon, and I would get all my loans paid off.”

 

“And why are we in England?”

 

“Because, Q owes me a debt, and the people who blackmailed me are dead.” I sighed at their faces. “The docs will let us all go in about two weeks.”

 

They all said nothing. I grimaced. “I’m gonna go watch Barnes. As much as I would like to see him kick Bond’s ass, Q would gut him.”

 

I left, moving the wheels back up to Barnes’ room. “So, what happens now?” he asked.

  
tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like one of you is going to track me down, shake me, and demand what actually happened in Italy, and all of Felix’s backstory.
> 
> I feel like Felix has waaaay too many stories. In my defense, Bond really is this horrible. Like I vow to never write a first person from his point of view, because I couldn’t deal with him in my head (probably).
> 
> You are so lucky that I have word count rules, otherwise I would have ended it before the big reveal.
> 
> I apologize on the lateness of this. I’ve been working ahead (mentally), and I opened up a few other projects on AO3. I still need to go back and edit, so please, be patient on that. I will be back in school soon, so there will either be an increase or decrease before it levels off once more. I’m hoping that it will be done in another ten to twenty chapters (Poor Yassen if my plans go right). I plan these things like a Cold War operative plans missions.


	29. Chapter 29

**Third person POV**

“And what about you?” Natasha asked. Yassen smirked, but said nothing. Felix had been very careful not to say anything about his past or John Rider. Some things will never be your secret to tell.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

 

“What’s your part in all of this?”

 

“I owed a debt to Rider’s father. Felix owes me a debt. We’re both paying it forward.”

 

“That’s it?” Steve asked.

 

“That’s it.” Yassen continued to smirk.

 

“No feelings there?” Bruce tried. Yassen ignored him.

 

“Are you boning each other? Bumping uglies, doing the assassin jig, cleaning guns, checking radar, melting bullets?” Tony wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. Natasha kicked him.

 

“No.” Yassen was slightly confused. “I’m not her type.”

 

“Huh?” Tony asked.

 

Steve looked at him. “You need to check your radar,” the captain said under his breath, but nobody bothered to enlighten Tony.

 

“You knew John Rider?” Steve queried. Everybody raised his eyebrows. “What? The man is a legend.”

 

“Yes, but he was a dick.” Yassen knocked back a shot of coffee, wishing that it contained a shot of vodka. “Saved my life a few times. Probably owe him if I ever see him again.”

 

* * *

 

**The Day that Felix meet Yassen Gregorovich**

“Sir, you have to stay on the bed. WHAT THE HELL, NO YOU REALLY DO NEED THAT. Yes, I am _certain_.”

 

Felix smirked at the conversation she overheard, and continued to restock the shelves in the back room of the medical bay. Her boss was an idiot. She sighed heavily: it would be her fault if an agent of Scorpia died, even if he wasn’t hers.

 

Felix put down the last box, and left the storage closet. Ted was trying desperately to coax a blue eyed Russian to get back to bed. Well, ‘coax’ is too gentle a word.

 

“GET BACK ON THE BED OR I’LL HAVE YOU OFF MISSION FOR A MONTH.” Yes, that would go well, Felix thought sarcastically.

 

“Ted, why don’t you go get lunch for a bit, yeah?” Felix asked gently. Ted was a cold bastard with little morals. He might be a fine medical man, but to say he lacked a bedside manner would be akin to saying that Bones tends to use hyposprays.

 

“Fine, but if he’s not still here when I get back . . .,” the other doctor trailed off sternly. Felix did not roll her eyes, but it was a close thing. Ted thrust the chart at Felix, even though she was technically still an intern. Ted left, locking the medical wing after him. She turned toward the Russian.

 

“Please?” the man said cheerfully, with a smile on his face. He was standing in a pool of his own blood. Felix took a step toward him, and he took a step back.

 

“Я не собираюсь делать тебе больно,” she said slowly.

 

Her Russian was shit, but she knew enough to hold a medically relevant conversation. One of the best phrases is ‘I’m not going to hurt you’. The other best phrase is ‘Оставьте свои штаны и торчат язык’. Drop your pants and stick out your tongue. Hawkeye would be proud.

 

“Your Russian is shit, and my English is perfect,” the man said.

 

“I know, but I meant what I said. Please?” she asked.

 

“And if I say ‘no’?”

 

“Then I wait until you bleed out. It should take about five minutes.”

 

“What if I lose too much blood?” She shrugged at the man, still not knowing his name.

 

“I’ll do the best I can.” The man sat back down on the bed.

 

“No drugs.”

 

“Does that include coffee, vitamins or antibiotics?” the young doctor queried snarkily.

 

“No,” the Russian snapped. “Just sedatives.” He didn’t have an accent, but his features gave it away.

 

“Good.” She kept a blank expression. Felix stuck out her hand. “Felix Ubiquesta.”

 

“Yassen Gregorovich.”

 

* * *

 

** *Felix’s POV*- Present **

I got Barnes and Coulson set up in the same room, swearing up and down that nobody would die from it. I know you think that I’m making things up about Bond, but I’m really not.

 

“So, we look cliched with a chest injury, leg, and arm down,” Barnes remarked.

 

“Yeah,” I muttered, hopping up on Barnes’ bed, and laying down.

 

“You tell him?” Coulson asked.

 

“Yeah, I told them about the drugs.”

 

“But not the rape?”

 

“It was implied, heavily implied.” I shrugged at them. The SAS were sleeping next door.

 

“That’s gonna be a fun conversation to have with the punk.”

 

“Trying too hard,” I informed the sergeant.

 

“Bitch.”

 

“Now now, there’s no reason for compliments here.”

 

“Controlling bitch.”

 

I smirked at Barnes, and gave him a fake salute.

 

“How drugged was I to not remember your bullshit?” Coulson muttered weakly. He coughed. Barnes patted his shoulder gently.

 

“It’s alright, I can make it up with stories about Stevie.”

 

“Trying too hard,” I muttered to him.

 

Barnes had seventy years of humanity to make up, in his mind at least. Sometimes, he would over do it, the way that Yassen does. He reminds me exactly of the strange combination of Yassen and Captain America. And for the record, he asked me to be his moral compass, which is extremely ironic.

 

“How long was I out of it?” Phil asked.

 

“A few months, probably more. Barnes?”

 

“Three months and you sort of lost it, from what I remember.” Barnes yawned and stretched.

 

“You should get some sleep,” I told him. He rolled his eyes.

 

“Nice to meet you, pot.” I grimaced at him. Barnes was better, but- “I’m not going to murder anybody or even maim them until you wake. Get some sleep, Felix. Come here.” He positioned my head so I was using his chest for a pillow. “The SAS are next door, the Avengers will end up in the hallway. It’s safe, sleep.”

 

I slept.

 

* * *

 

**Third Person-Same Location**

“How badly did I hurt her?” Phil asked.

 

“Not as badly as I did,” Barnes whispered softly. “I’ll leave as soon as I can if that’s what you both want.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Phil said softly but firmly. “You are as much a victim as I or her, possibly more so. I can’t speak for Felix, but you are welcome to stay with me for as long as you want.”

 

“Thank you,” Barnes whispered.

 

“You’re welcome.” Phil was used to dealing with Natasha’s stupidity (not that he would ever put that out in the world as such) with debts. He’d imply something to Steve at some point, or, preferably, any of the other Avengers or Felix.

 

There are reasons why he recommended a teenager to handle the most badass people out there.

 

Eventually, Phil fell asleep and only Barnes lay awake, contemplating the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a horrible thing. I’m gonna make sure that the horrible thing actually happens. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Blame Google translate. I apologize to any of you who speak Russian.
> 
> I’m sorry about the lateness of updates. I have a lot of things going on, and school started up for me, and shit’s going down.
> 
> I love Steve, because he would have the best radar. Yes, there will be further prove of this.
> 
> The actual way to handle difficult patients is to just restrain them, and use sedatives. It sucks hardcore, and wouldn’t work well with Yassie, so Felix is more pragmatic.


	30. Chapter 30

Fury woke me with a tap to my shoulder. Barnes was already up, with a knife in hand.

 

“How long?”

 

“He’s been there for thirty minutes,” Barnes said cooly, glaring at Fury.

 

“Barnes has been handling the knife since then.” Phil grinned. He might have a few issues with his boss right now.

 

“Right. Not dead,” I told Fury. “Now, let me go back to sleep.” I rolled over, and snuggled up against Barnes. Really, really good drugs.

 

“Felix, I need a-”

 

“Director,” Clint said cheerfully from an air vent. I opened one eye to glare at him, shrugged and ignored the spying. “Can I speak to you in the hall?”

 

Fury left. I heard Clint rattle the vents, and leave as well.

 

I sighed and sat up. “They say when we can leave?” I asked the guys.

 

“I think they’re transferring us to America.”

 

“Awesome.” I could hear shouting from the hallway. Fuck. I flipped off the bed, and into the wheelchair. Barnes raised his eyebrows, but I shook my head at him, and flicked mine to Phil. Barnes nodded shortly. I wheeled into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. “You need to hush up.”

 

“I need your report.”

 

“You will have it, but in the morning. All you need to know is that the mission got me captured, rescued Barnes and Coulson, and a bunch of bad guys are dead. Now, good fucking night, and you better have damn good tea the next time you wake me for such a small reason.” I jabbed a finger at the exit. “Now leave, before I hand you your ass from a wheelchair.”

 

Fury casually walked out the exit, looking like a giant cat who meant to fall of that ledge, damnit.  Good drugs, such good drugs.

 

“Are you okay?” Wolf asked finally in the dead silence. I raised my eyebrows at him. He chuckled.

 

“How do you know Felix, again?” Clint asked.

 

“She got assigned to us for a week.” The SAS had taken off their masks awhile ago, because this was MI6, and Tony Stark.

 

“In that time,” Eagle continued. “She pissed off the Sarge, took over fifty bucks from each of us, blew up the camp multiple times, saved Cub, and the rest is classified.”

 

“You used to be more wild?” Tony half muttered, half asked.

 

“Not really,” I hedged.

 

Yassen said nothing but only because I knew things.

 

“How long are you even on leave?” I asked the SAS.

 

“We leave when you are checked out.”

 

“That’s funny,” I said. “Seriously, when? I don’t think that active SAS are supposed to lollygag around hospitals, instead of on missions.”

 

“Technically,” Eagle began, but Snake kicked him in the ankle. I stared. “Technically,” Eagle continued once he’d taken a step away from Snake. “We’re on mission, because we’re guarding you.”

 

“Now, we just followed orders,” Wolf hastened to add. I nodded cheerfully at them. Alex could use a hands-on demolitions lesson. The internet still lacks scientific testing of what occurs if one mixes glitter, spray paint, and C-4. Multiple sessions may occur to make sure that my hypothesis of mass destruction remains accurate.

 

“Well, the Sarge wanted us to tell you that you are always welcome to run laps around the camp.”

 

“That’s nice,” I murmured in the way of people who really do not want to go to Nana's house for Christmas, but still wanted Christmas to occur. It’s like that.

 

“You know that he added a new rule after you left?” Wolf asked me.

 

“Yeah?” Tony looked up at that.

 

“No C-4 mixed with glitter.”

 

“What?” Steve nearly dropped his coffee at that.

 

“She may have set off a bunch of explosions to teach the entire camp about situational awareness.”

 

“It worked,” Eagle muttered. “Nobody slept for a week. Wolf fell out of a plane, grinning, because he hadn’t slept. It was awesome.”

 

I grinned at all of them.

 

“You are a scary motherfucker,” Tony remarked casually.   
  


“That’s no reason to withhold glitter and explosions.” Steve had time on his hands during WWII. “Do you train with nerf guns?” A lot of time on his hands. Tony looked like he either wanted to jump Steve right then and there, or take a few steps back, and couldn’t make up his mind.

 

It took three long days until MI6 bothered to release us. They only let us out, because I told them that bloodshed would occur soon. Tony spent most of that time checking out Steve’s ass. I think the SAS were about to join in the betting pool on how long it would take for Steve to tackle the engineer. Most of the Minions had already joined the pool, and raised the stakes. Bruce kept out of the way. Thor had gone off planet. The assassins were stalking Coulson like he was- actually, I don’t have an analogy for that, because nobody’s been stalked before like that. Like he was their Hot Lips or something.

 

“Happy to go home?” Bruce asked softly, from my elbow. I’d been keeping an eye on him. Bruce is touchy around people who’ve been enhanced.   
  


“I’ll be happy when I’m back at the Tower, and see Alex.”

 

“Are we going to talk about your leg?” Bruce asked politely.

 

“I’ll wait for it to get less sore, and get a prosthetic or a flying wheelchair.” I could hear Bruce’s jaw clench.

 

We were on the plane, just Bruce and I were in the back, near the flap. The others were up near the cockpit. Steve appeared in the doorway.

 

“I overheard,” he said simply. I nodded shortly. The SAS had gone to back to their base after they’d seen the plane take flight.

 

“Whatever you suppose to imagine of my mental state, I am dealing very well with the events of the past two months, and I do not have time right now to break down.” I met his eyes with a pleasant look on my face. “Any other questions?” They both shook their heads. “Good.”

 

I wheeled the chair back to the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : Google docs keeps trying to correct ‘tony’ to ‘tiny’. It made my day.
> 
> I apologize for Bruce this chapter. I needed somebody to question Felix.
> 
> I'm sorry about the lateness of this. School, other fics, and then Star Wars. Just Jesus. Sorry.


	31. Chapter 31

Shield gave me a temporary prosthetic about five days after I moved back into the tower. Yassen would still barely talk to me. He needed time to deal with that I had been hurt, and he’d been helpless. Alex was much nicer about the whole thing. Alex worked out his issues by sparring with Steve.

“Who’s the kid?” Barnes asked the first day I had started walking around with the fake limb. He had a fake arm strapped into his shoulder. The SAS had rescued it from Hydra, but the scientists had wanted to make sure that it was safe. I leaned into his good shoulder, watching a fifteen year old boy flip Captain America over his head.

“Alex Rider. Hunter’s son.”

“That’s- Gregorovich makes a little more sense.” 

And that was the second part of Yassen’s problems: Barnes. Yassen had spent time making sure that people didn’t fuck with Rider, there were Reasons why he was being homeschooled. Actually, we’d gone to meet with school administration, and Yassen had brought a knife (and some guns). I worry about what Alex wants to do once he has his GED. In the meantime, Yassen had to worry about whether or not Barnes was going to kill everybody. Nobody had the heart to tell his overprotective ass, that Alex can take care of himself at this point.

Alex is thinking about going to college. Being normal. I think Yassen is turning into John Winchester.

And of course Barnes knew about Hunter. Everybody knew about a guy who infiltrated Scorpia at this point. It’s the one part of my life that I don’t have to over explain to people.

“How are you planning to fix things with Steve?” I asked Barnes, watching Alex wrestle with the man in question. Cap had been walking around like somebody had burned his puppy alive and dug up the ashes.

“How are you planning to fix things with Gregorovich?”

I sighed at him. “Yassen is mad because I got hurt, and he blames me.” Yassen is emotionally stunted and was concerned about me.

“You know that may have something to do with the fact that you look like a Holocaust survivor,” Steve spoke up. He was pinned to the mat, again.

“And yet, who’s being beat up by a teenager?”

He would know. MI6 had done a perfect job of preventing me from seeing my own reflection. The Tower, however, was made of reflective surfaces. I’d lost weight. It would explain why Yassen had shoved a bag of jerky at me, and ran away.

“Have you even gone home?” Barnes asked. I smirked at him, and raised an eyebrow. He was one to talk. He’d spent the past five days stalking the vents. “I’m fine,” the ex-soldier protested. I shrugged at him.

“I think Clint wants his space back.”

“Damn right I do,” Clint called from over head. “Not that I don’t like you or anything, but you move things sometimes.” I laughed internally. Clint was delighted to have another sniper hanging about. Clint was just worried; they all were worried. Tony was still hiding in his lab, because I reminded him of caves. Bruce was with him because there was nothing he could do. Nat was doing something with Fury. Phil was on bedrest.

“Do you want a drink later?” Steve asked, getting off the mats. I looked at him startled.

“Are you asking me out, Rogers?” I asked. He shook his head, smiling a little bit. Goddamn.

“Nah, I figured you could do with a night out. Clint can hold the fort down for a bit.” I nearly snorted.

“Alright,” I said at last. Alex looked up, but he had a smile on his face so I didn’t ask. I didn’t know that he was worried about me as well.

I threw on a pair of fresher jeans and a sweater later that night. I followed Steve down to the bar. None of the other Avengers joined us, but I found that to not be true.

It was a loud bar with a karaoke machine in the back. Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster greeted Steve cheerfully. I’d yet to meet them. Steve grinned cheerfully over at me. He was such a little shit. I knew that most of Barnes’ grumptation was formed well before Hydra thanks to Steve.

“Two scotches,” Steve called to the bartender. She passed the drinks over readily. Steve handed me one. “Put it on my tab.”

“You’ve been going here, haven’t you? Every time that you’ve said ‘oh I just need some fresh air’?”

“There’s nothin’ like singin’ in front of a crowd.” Shit eating grinning bastard. I snorted and knocked back the shot. “I come here to be reminded that past, present, or future there better be people who sing badly in bars.” He bumped my shoulder gently.

“I’m blaming you for the hangover of tomorrow.” That was how I met Darcy Lewis: empty shot glass in hand, ogling Steve Rogers’ honest face, and more than a little bit broken.

“Hey, Steve who’s your friend?” She asked, slinging an arm around Steve.

“Felix.” I shook her hand. She wiggled her eyebrows at Steve. He tossed back his shot. Wise man.

“Darcy Lewis.” We let go of hands.

It took exactly five rounds of shots for Steve to get me to loosen up a bit.

“So why is Yassen pissed at you? Really?” he asked.

“I did something I promised I wouldn’t.” Darcy and Jane blinked at that. Steve merely raised his eyebrows. In a sad way, it was a good thing that he survived the Depression. “I let them torture me, even though I could’ve escaped. Yassen knows it. He knows that’s exactly what I would do.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know that I could get the others out and I couldn’t risk that they would kill them. I didn’t figure that it would take Q so long to find me.”

“And why was it Q that found you?”

“I called in a favor with him a few months ago to check up on Hydra from time to time. Nothing personal but I don’t trust Fury that much.”

“But you trust the government that wants you dead.”

“Publicly, they want to detain me. Privately, they want me to work for them again. Q pays me a favor and it might make me look more into their job offer, not that I would.”

“Right,” Steve said at last. He knew I wasn’t that drunk. I lived with Russians. Stereotypes are bullshit, but eventually vodka does get around. “You sure know a lot of people who owe you favors.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re leaving aren’t you?” Steve asked.

“For a few months. I need some time, Steve. I told Q that I would work with the SAS for a bit and spend some time helping him to develop more equipment.”

Steve sighed and rubbed at his face. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not going to help by reminding Barnes and Phil what happened.”

“That’s bullshit,” the captain said.

I glared at him. “Fine. I need some time to remember that I really can kick ass, alright? I need some time to remember that I made a poor choice.”

“That’s stupid.” I glared at him. “No, seriously it’s idiotic.”

“Plane, parachute,” I got out, underneath my laughter.

“You’re still going to do it, no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Can you look after them? Please?”

“Fine, but you’re the one who needs to deal with Yassen.” Yay. Steve grinned at me. “Come on, I know you’re drunk enough for karaoke.”

It turns out that nobody is drunk enough for my rendition of We Are the Champions with Darcy, Jane and Steve. 

It took six days to get things set up with the SAS. They’d hire me on a temporary basis as an instructor only. Alex had snorted at that, even he knew better at this point. Yassen scowled for a bit, but he knew better than to protest at my version of a vacation. Well, if you took forcing me to go see Bruce and Tony for a better leg as ‘not protesting’.

“I’m fine,” I murmured to Tony as I hopped up on his medical table.

“I just want to take a look.” I glared at him. “Come on, you let me check out Barnes just fine before.”

 

“Yes, because I knew it was less likely that you were going to dissect the tech rather than Q branch.” I liked Q, but we’re all grown up spies here. I shrugged my pants off just the same.

“Thank you,” Tony snarked. I smiled at him. My leg at the moment was mostly metal with some neurofeedback, something that the Q branch had whipped up. Tony had improved on it when I got back. Barnes had a similar design. Tony just wanted to make sure that it could withstand the SAS. The hell if he trusted them.

I left on a Wednesday, duffle bag in hand, talking one of those shitty flights over with some Army intelligence boys. Ironically, since MI6 and the CIA were getting along for a brief moment, they were using me as a go-between.

I was dropped off in front of the gates. Wolf greeted me cheerfully with his typical scowl. I couldn’t blame him. It was raining, and the Sarge had been warned about my leg. Even with Tony’s adjustments, the military would never let me run Spec Ops in the field.

“Home again?” Wolf asked me, not bothering to take my bags from me. He watched my slight limp carefully though. It would have been a greater insult to help me. Damn, I missed him.

“Just for a few months or so.” We slogged through the mud to the camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys need to go thank three_patch_problem10. Like seriously. They rock.


End file.
